Ride or Die
by olivieblake
Summary: The Death Eaters are an outlaw motorcycle club run by Tom Riddle, a notoriously ruthless leader who works the brotherhood into high stakes criminal activity after the death of their previous president. Draco Malfoy is heir to the throne, but his life abruptly changes when fate lands him in the hands of a young doctor. Dramione, muggle AU. COMPLETE.
1. Death Eaters

**Ride or Die**

 **Summary:** _The Death Eaters are an outlaw motorcycle club run by Tom Riddle, a notoriously ruthless leader who gradually works the brotherhood into high stakes criminal activity after the death of their previous president. Draco Malfoy is heir to the throne, but his life abruptly changes when fate lands him in the hands of a young doctor who is about to get in way over her head. Dramione, Muggle AU._

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters. Credit where credit is due, Joanne Rowling.

 **A/N:** This story is an expansion of my one shot of the same name from my _Amortentia_ short story collection. It will contain excerpts from the original one shot (including this introduction), but will be mostly new material. A note: the content of this story includes a great deal of explicit language and violence, more so than some of my other works. Please note that I don't personally condone the behavior in this story (particularly gun violence), and this is entirely a work of fiction.

The first chapter is largely a prelude to the story, so will be a bit shorter than future installments. Thank you for reading! Here we go.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Death Eaters**

"This is fucking insane," Theo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Dumbledore never had us do shit like this."

"Relax," Draco told him, looking up as a car drove by. _Not them._ "Dumbledore didn't exactly pay out, either." He kicked out one foot, crossing it over the other. "No risk, no reward."

"I'm not going to fucking _relax,_ " Theo countered roughly, raking a hand through his hair. The tattoo on his wrist was stark against his pale skin. "This is bullshit, Draco. Who the fuck are we meeting?"

"Theo," Draco warned, giving him a cautionary glance. It went unnoticed.

"Riddle's a fucking lunatic," Theo continued, scowling. "Fucking guns and shit - this is not our game," he growled, slamming his hand on the trunk of the Impala they rarely used. "I didn't fucking sign up to die today."

After a week, it was becoming a tired argument.

"Theo," Draco repeated coolly, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun, "shut the fuck up."

Theo grunted his opposition to this idea, but as expected, he did as he was bade. Hierarchy demanded it.

Besides, Draco was fucking _right_.

"There," Draco said, jutting his chin out to reference the approaching car; it was an XLR that looked more than a little out of place pulling behind a warehouse. "Fuckers," he added under his breath, shaking his head. "Incognito apparently doesn't mean what it used to."

Theo said nothing, swallowing uneasily as the front passenger got out of the car, taking a wary look around before strutting towards them. The man, large-set and tall, was thoroughly bearded and fully overdressed, clad in a dark suit and even darker sunglasses. He offered them both a stiff nod, his grey hair slicked back from his face.

"Malfoy?" he called gruffly, glancing between Draco and Theo.

"Me," Draco replied, stepping forward. "Greyback?"

"Call me Fenrir," the other man confirmed, bearing his teeth as he smiled. "My associates," he added, gesturing to the two heavily muscled men behind him. "Scabior," he said, nodding to the larger of the two, "and Smith."

"Pleasure," Draco offered smoothly, then tilted his head, nodding to Theo. "This is Nott."

"Nott," Fenrir repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. He glanced questioningly at Scabior, who shrugged, flashing his employer a look of open skepticism. "Thought he was older."

"Nott Junior," Theo clarified stiffly. The muscle twitched uneasily around his jaw.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow, turning back to Draco. "I take it you are Malfoy Junior, then," he said, and Draco detected something leery in his tone; insult, he suspected.

"We're better company than our fathers," Draco offered, unfazed. "Tom did you a favor."

Fenrir considered him a moment, eyes narrowed; Draco refused to back down, staring back until the other man suddenly laughed, clapping his hands together in a bewildering, wholly incongruous expression of delight.

"Too true," Fenrir determined gravely. "So." He raised a hand, beckoning with one hand. "Show me what Tom has for me."

Draco nodded expectantly at Theo, who popped open the trunk.

"Take a look," Draco invited, stepping aside. "Sample only. Full shipment in a week, if you're interested."

"Naturally," Fenrir agreed, grinning wolfishly again. He sifted through the trunk's contents and picked up the M16, peering over the barrel.

"Hey, man," Theo muttered uneasily, garnering a disapproving glance from Scabior and Smith. "Maybe don't fucking wave that shit around."

Fenrir glanced up, eyeing him. "This shit hot?" he asked suspiciously, turning to Draco. "This one looks scared," he added mockingly, using the rifle to gesture to Theo's stiff-shouldered form.

"That's just his face," Draco supplied, glaring at Theo the instant Fenrir turned back to the trunk. It was harder now to keep his cool; it hadn't occurred to him to ask Riddle if the guns they were selling happened to be stolen.

Theo was right. _Dumbledore never had us do shit like this._

He should've asked.

Fenrir looked up, gesturing for his two companions. They crowded around him on either side, and Theo slowly inched towards Draco.

"This doesn't look good," Theo whispered.

"I fucking know that," Draco hissed. "Fucking _calm down_."

Theo's frown deepened. "Maybe we should get them to move," he suggested, gesturing to where Smith and Scabior were flanking Fenrir, blocking his motions from sight. "I don't like this."

"Sure, Theo, just fucking _ask nicely_ ," Draco muttered sarcastically, imitating him. " _Please_ be so kind as to _show us your goddamn hands_ \- "

"Hey," Fenrir grunted brusquely, turning. He now held a pistol and was eyeing it closely; _too_ _closely_ , Draco thought, hearing the telling clicks from either side of him as Scabior and Smith drew their weapons. "You got rules on sampling the merchandise?"

Draco swallowed, trying to remain calm. "Could grab some targets," he offered, feigning ignorance. "Nothing if not hospitable," he added, reaching slowly for the Glock tucked into his waistband.

"Don't fucking move," Scabior muttered ominously, his eyes flicking to Draco's hand. "We already know these guns work."

"Love a knowledgeable customer," Theo offered weakly; Draco shot him a silencing glare. _Not helpful._

"Ask us how we know," Fenrir suggested, beckoning to them with an unsettlingly assured condescension. "Go on," he taunted. " _Ask_."

 _Fuck,_ Draco thought, searching for a way out of what was a rapidly deteriorating situation and coming up thoroughly empty-handed. _Fuck, fuck, fuck -_

"How do you know?" he finally gritted out, bereft of options and struggling to breathe.

Fenrir aimed the Beretta at him, his full beard shifting slightly to accommodate a crooked smile. "These guns are fucking stolen," he remarked flatly, and Draco's stomach lurched. "Tell Riddle I want his head," Fenrir added with a laugh, right before he pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **One Week Earlier**

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up slowly, the haze of the previous night's foray into misbehavior gradually clearing as he lifted his head, squinting at the head of dark hair beside him.

"Astoria," he muttered, nudging her. "Get up."

She groaned, rubbing sleep and several layers of smeared mascara from her eyes. "Come on, Draco - "

"You know the deal," he said, kicking the bedding away from him and standing to pull on a shirt. "You weren't supposed to stay here last night. Or _any_ night," he added, giving her a look.

She made a face. "That's bullshit, Draco," she said, emitting a loud squeak of protest as he reached over, tossing the comforter away from her and into a pile of tangled sheets at the foot of the bed. "You don't have to be such a fucking _dick -_ "

"Last night was a mistake," he interrupted, and she smirked.

"All three times?" she asked, reaching for him. She, he was not overly pleased to note, was still naked from the night before. "Come on, babe - "

"Don't 'babe' me," he said gruffly, shoving her hands away as she reached for the band of his boxer briefs. "This is _exactly_ what I said can't fucking happen again, Astoria."

"What's the big deal?" she protested, tugging him by the collar. "Come on," she purred, sliding her hands under his shirt to run them over the Malfoy crest tattooed on his chest. "We could be good together, Draco - you _know_ we could - "

"We already fucking tried this," he reminded her with a sigh, fighting to ignore the twitch of his cock as she let her fingers trace the crevices of his abs. "It didn't work."

"Mmm, are you sure?" she asked, lifting his shirt and tearing it over his head, peeling it from the tattooed slopes of his arms as he sighed. "I'm not just free pussy, Draco - "

"And this is your way of proving it?" he countered, closing his eyes as she kissed his neck, dipping her hand into his underwear and giving his cock a languid stroke. "Not totally convincing, Astoria."

"I'm just saying," she said, bringing herself to the edge of the bed so that she was nearly at eye level with his cock, "that I think you might find I'm worth more than the occasional lay."

"Bold," he murmured, his breath escaping in a low hiss as she leaned in, letting her tongue drift over his tip. "Let me guess," he ventured, tangling his fingers in her dark hair as she glanced up, making a show of trailing her tongue along his shaft. "You need money?"

She drew back, huffing in insult. "I'm not a fucking _prostitute,_ Draco - "

"What, then?" he asked, raising a single brow as she scowled at him. "Pretty sure you know I'm not settling down with you anytime soon."

She sighed, licking her lips before letting her eyes settle again on his cock. "Would it really be so bad," she offered softly, dipping to circle his tip with her tongue before glancing up at him, "having me around all the time?"

"It's" - he broke off, swallowing as she took his full length in her mouth - "more complicated than that."

"Is it?" she prompted, her eyes wide as she reached down, wrapping her fist around his shaft and slowly letting her hand slide along his length. "Seems pretty simple to me," she remarked, taking him in her mouth again.

"Astoria," he began, but her name dissolved into a growl; his fingers tightened in her hair as she wrapped her lips around his cock, expertly flicking her tongue beneath the underside of his tip.

There was no going anywhere with this, he knew; but as with the previous night, her determination to suck him off was far more compelling than his desire to kick her out. He adjusted his stance, kicking his legs apart and closing his eyes, and had just reached down to lightly flick her hardened nipple when he heard his front door suddenly burst open, the sound of heavy footsteps falling inside his apartment.

"Draco," he heard Theo call, "get your ass out here, you fuckstick."

 _Fuck_ , Draco thought, nudging Astoria's head away and tucking his dick back into his underwear as Theo suddenly burst in the doorway, prompting Astoria to squeal and duck for the blankets.

"Morning," Draco said, offering him a lazy salute, and Theo rolled his eyes.

"Get dressed," he said, unfazed by Draco's partial state of dress. "Your dad called. Riddle's looking for us."

"Lucius called you?" Draco repeated, confused. "Why not me?"

Theo shrugged. "Said he tried reaching you," he offered, his eyes traveling mockingly to where Astoria had pulled the twisted sheet up over her breasts. "I'd guess you were otherwise occupied," he ventured mockingly, gesturing to the g-string that hung from the corner of Draco's dresser.

"A bit," Draco agreed, tugging uncomfortably at his still-stiff cock. "But I can be ready in ten." He glanced at Astoria, whose nipples were evident through the thin white sheet. "Maybe fifteen," he amended, and Theo chuckled.

"Have at it," Theo said obligingly, backing out of the room and pausing just before shutting the door. "I'll give a shout in about seven," he added with a wink, and Draco threw a pillow at him, just missing his head as he pulled the door closed.

"Sorry," Draco said, returning his attention to Astoria and reaching for her. "Where were we?"

She frowned. "Seven minutes?" she repeated skeptically, and he smirked, his eyes sweeping briskly over her as he tugged his underwear off, climbing onto the bed.

He took advantage of her momentary hesitation and deftly flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her hips back and towards him before nudging his cock against her entrance, shifting his hand to slide against her clit.

"Believe me," he said, giving her hair a firm tug with his free hand, "we'll be done in five."

* * *

"Thought you were done fucking old girlfriends," Theo commented offhandedly, swinging a leg over his Harley and removing his helmet.

"Old habits," Draco said, shrugging. "She resurfaces every now and then."

"Suppose it could be worse," Theo permitted with a smirk.

" _You've_ certainly done worse," Draco assured him.

Theo sighed dramatically. "We can't all be the Malfoy prince," he said mournfully, nudging Draco in the ribs.

"Fuck you," Draco said instantly, just as Darian Mulciber walked by, Crabbe and Goyle at his side. "Hey, Mulciber," Draco called, raising his chin in greeting, "you seen my dad?"

"In with Tom," Darian replied, jerking his head to gesture inside. "Clubhouse."

"Thanks." Draco turned to Theo, raising a brow curiously. "Speaking of dads - "

"Still bedridden," Theo replied indifferently. "Still sneaking in cigarettes, too, so I have to assume he enjoyed the surgery the first time and is looking for a fucking second go."

"Old habits," Draco remarked sagely, and Theo shook his head, aiming a careless "whatever" into the ground as he spat out his disgust.

They walked inside in silence, nodding casually to Avery and Rowle, before striding purposefully through the familiar double doors.

"Draco," Lucius called, rising as they entered the boardroom.

Draco nodded at him. "Dad," he offered, before turning to face Riddle, who sat, as he always did, at the head of the table. "Tom."

"Draco," Tom said smoothly, nudging his dark hair back. "And Theo, excellent. Sit."

They did as they were bade, Draco settling himself next to his father as Theo crossed the room, seating himself across the table. They created a stunning contrast in the room, Draco thought, imagining how the four of them might have looked to an outsider. He and his father were both pale-haired and light-eyed; of similar height, and firmer builds. Tom, on the other hand, looked slight and oddly elegant in the dim lighting of the room, his dark hair falling in age-resistant waves. Tom Riddle was a man with a strange appeal, Draco knew, but a powerful one; whether it was looks alone, Draco couldn't tell, but Tom certainly commanded a room and Theo, equally dark-haired and slim, sat tellingly in Tom's shadow.

"So," Draco ventured, leaning forward. "You needed something?"

"As you know," Lucius began, glancing between them, "things have been somewhat chaotic since Dumbledore passed."

Draco nodded, as did Theo.

"Things are . . . somewhat precarious," Lucius continued. "Financially. Which," he added, "has prompted the need for a certain level of creativity on our part."

"Something other than auto repair and casual anarchy, I'm guessing," Theo commented, and Lucius, who had never appreciated Theo's particular brand of candidness, scowled.

"A bit more than that," he sniffed testily in agreement, glancing at Tom for reassurance.

"I've had to look into other sources of income," Tom supplied, the smooth timbre of his voice resonating within the dark walls of the room. "Luckily, we're a brotherhood of many talents and capabilities," he added, giving Draco a tiny nod of approval. "Some of which include the particular . . . _persuasiveness_ that I think will aid us in our business ventures."

"Persuasiveness," Draco commented. "Us?"

"You," Tom confirmed briskly. "Unless you have reason to believe I'm mistaken."

The praise, which was a rarity - and one that had come sparingly from Dumbledore - struck a particularly pleasing chord in Draco. "You're not," he said confidently, and Lucius nodded his approval.

"I rarely am," Tom agreed.

 _Right,_ Draco thought with a smirk. _Of course not._

"I need to set you two up on a project," Tom continued, his rings flashing as he drummed his fingers absentmindedly against the skull-and-snake emblem that was carved into the table. "An enticement for a potential future client."

"Sounds fancy," Theo remarked drily, pointedly ignoring the instant blow of Lucius's impatient glare. "Who is it?"

"Fenrir Greyback," Tom replied, though he quickly refocused his attention on Draco. "I've been working on making a connection with his camp. He's - " Tom paused, dragging his tongue slowly across his lip, "an entrepreneur, one might say."

Draco stifled a laugh. "Entrepreneur?" he echoed skeptically. "Are we selling him bike parts?"

There was a pause. _That's a no, then_ , Draco gathered, waiting.

"Well," Tom offered silkily, "we all traffic in our particular varieties of commerce."

"Drugs?" Draco prompted alternatively, lifting one brow. Beside him, Lucius shot him a silencing glance, shaking his head in warning.

"Oh, Draco," Tom said with a laugh. "Surely you'd prefer the details be left to me."

 _I fucking would not_ , Draco wanted to say, but the visible tightening of his father's fingers around the arm of his chair served sufficient to stop his tongue.

"I'll need you to meet him at some point in the future," Tom continued. "I've got some things to pull together before then, but I need to make sure you'll be ready when the time comes." His blue eyes fixed intently on Draco's. "Are we clear?"

"Sounds important," Draco remarked wryly. "Anything more I should know about?"

Tom considered him a moment before answering. "Draco," he finally tsked softly, "do you really think I wouldn't give you all the information you needed?"

At the telling non-answer, Draco exchanged a glance with Theo, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Just being clear," Draco offered smoothly, kicking his legs out under the table and sliding down in his seat. "You want us to meet with Greyback," he clarified, "and then - ?"

"Meet him," Lucius asserted, "woo him, and - "

"Make a loyal customer of him," Tom finished, rolling a kink out of his neck before refocusing his attention on Draco. "Show him that the future of this club is something worth investing in," he added, offering Draco an unsettlingly omniscient smile.

 _The future of this club,_ Draco thought, finding the idea disquieting. "Do you mean _us_ ," he began, looking across the table at Theo, "or the 'product'?"

Tom shrugged. "One and the same, in the end," he said opaquely, and across the table, Theo made a face.

"This seems like an awful lot of fucking pretense for a bunch of bike mechanics," Theo commented, intently avoiding Lucius's disapproving glance.

"Yes, this is a slightly different venture," Tom agreed, scarcely sparing him a glance. "Dumbledore's untimely departure has served unpleasant, though not entirely luckless in timing." He looked up, giving Draco another distressing look. "We have to explore a variety of means from whatever opportunities arise. For the good of the club," he added, as a hazy afterthought.

"For the good of the club," Draco repeated slowly, and beside him, Lucius nodded.

"It's about creating a sustainable source of income for us into the future," Lucius said, his tone faintly robotic. "Something to keep us going."

"Again, this sounds like something beyond the sign on the door that says 'Harley repair,'" Theo interjected brusquely. "What exactly is this mysterious source of income that's so sustainable?"

A brief flash of irritation appeared in Tom's eyes, causing Draco a moment of alarm; but just as quickly as it had appeared, it faded, the slow smile creeping back over Tom's face.

"Theodore," he broached slowly, his voice oddly hushed. "Hostile today, are we?"

Draco inhaled sharply, hearing something in Tom's voice that he couldn't put a finger on; Theo clearly caught it too, his shoulders stiffening to the slightest possible degree.

"I'd hate to think you're somehow displeased with my leadership," Tom commented, the honeyed tone of his words dripping leisurely from his tongue. "You _are_ committed to the well being of the Death Eaters, are you not?"

"I am," Theo said loudly, and despite Draco's silent plea for him to hold his tongue, he continued. "But - "

"I hardly think that you intend to challenge my authority," Tom prompted with a laugh, and at Theo's startled hesitation, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Not to worry," Tom said reassuringly, and then smiled. "Oh, but by the way," he began quietly, as though he'd suddenly remembered something, "how's your father doing? Still breathing, I hope," he added, eyes flashing, "despite the trouble I know you've had with his health insurance."

There was a silent breath of pause around the table as Tom tapped his fingers lightly against the table. "Nearly lapsed, didn't it?" he asked, as though the conversation topic had not drastically changed.

"Yes," Theo managed, swallowing. "He was about to be transferred, but then - "

"But then he wasn't," Tom said brightly, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Amazing, isn't it," he murmured, "how things just . . . work themselves out?"

"Yes," Theo whispered, lowering his head.

"I'd hate for things to become . . . _difficult_ for you," Tom remarked thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to cup his chin. "Truly, I'd hate to see a fellow Death Eater in any sort of" - he paused, his eyes flicking first to Draco, and then back to Theo - "pain."

This time, Theo said nothing.

"Well then," Tom erupted suddenly, slapping a palm against the table before turning back to Draco. "I'm sorry, bit of a tangent," he remarked buoyantly, with a stunning effortlessness, as though no threat had been made. "Did you have any remaining questions?"

Draco, who had been holding his breath, blinked. "I - "

He glanced at Theo's bent head; met Lucius's warning glare.

"No," he determined faintly, and Tom nodded his approval.

"Wonderful," Tom said, his eyes narrowing to slits as he smiled.

* * *

"Fuck," Theo said, opening the trunk.

"Guns," Draco sighed, shaking his head.

"Guns," Theo agreed, looking sick. He turned, leaning against the open trunk. "Gotta add small-time arms dealer to the resume, I guess."

"Small-time might be an understatement," Draco remarked, sifting through the familiar pistols to reveal a series of military grade assault rifles. "This is some fucking heavy artillery."

"Shit," Theo said, nudging Draco aside to look for himself. " _Fuck_ , Draco - "

"It's not that bad," Draco cut in, nudging Theo back and slamming the trunk shut. "All we have to do is get that Greyback guy interested. Easy," he added, with more confidence than he felt. "Just like any other client."

"This isn't just some sales pitch, Draco," Theo sputtered, staring at him in disbelief. "These are fucking _guns -_ "

"We're just selling a product to a client," Draco reminded him. "That's it." He gave Theo a nudge to the ribs, attempting to be soothing. "Just - a transfer of goods, that's all."

Theo sighed, shaking his head. "You were always fucking blessed with compartmentalization," he commented sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's fine," Draco assured him again, rolling his sleeves up to the dragon tattoo that wrapped around his forearm. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He felt a lurch as soon as he said it.

"Famous last words," Theo muttered, as they moved to climb into the car.

* * *

 **a/n:** Next chapter - Dr. Hermione Granger is about to have a really, really long shift at the hospital.


	2. Do No Harm

**Chapter 2: Do No Harm**

Hermione Granger stepped in front of her locker and sank back onto the bench, feeling a thorough throb of exhaustion course through her. She'd once thought - stupidly - that medical school had been hardest thing she'd ever done; she'd been so, _so_ tragically wrong.

"Granger," Dean barked from his locker down the row, "you good?"

"Yeah, fine," she replied weakly, though in truth, she doubted her legs would hold her much longer. "Long procedure," she explained unnecessarily.

"You're telling me," Padma sniffed, materializing on Dean's left. "Fascinating, though, wasn't it?" she prompted, nudging Dean. "Amazing."

"I'd have killed to scrub in on that," Dean agreed, glaring sulkily at Hermione. "Watch yourself, Granger," he added with a wink, and Hermione, despite herself, wondered for a moment whether or not he was capable of following through on that claim.

There was something fairly merciless about Dean Thomas, she thought, and she'd noticed it right away. Perhaps it was by necessity; he, famously among her intern class, was from Diagon originally, the prodigal son who'd returned home instead of seeking fortune elsewhere. He'd worked his way through state school for college and med school and when it came to his own success he was hungrier - in a wolfish way - than anyone Hermione had ever met.

"You lucky bitch," Padma grumbled at her in agreement, shaking her head.

Padma, Hermione knew, _was_ capable of murdering Hermione for a surgery, and could just as easily hide the evidence without a trace. Padma had graduated top of her class from Stanford Med, just as she'd been top of her class in undergrad. Unlike Dean, she'd taken the job at St. Mungo's not for the glamour - _ha,_ Hermione thought, laughing internally - of small town life in Diagon, but for the unexpectedly unparalleled oncology department. Padma Patil, Hermione knew, was a true surgeon; she would come in steadily, slice out her competition with a scalpel, and then close up the wound and walk away without remorse, heading instead to a bigger name hospital once she'd collected her accolades.

St. Mungo's surgical internship was tougher than Hermione could have ever imagined, and it had more than a little to do with the caliber of her competition. She was used to being the smartest, the best in her class - but so were _they._ She'd never met anyone as intense and relentless as she was until she'd met the other interns, Dean and Padma included, who generally seemed overjoyed to sacrifice food, sleep, and happiness in order to secure a residency.

With some exceptions, of course.

"You going out later?" Dean asked, shoving past some other interns to throw himself down beside Hermione. "You look like you need a drink."

"Going out?" Hermione echoed skeptically, glancing between him and Padma. "You're kidding."

"Social lives are healthy," Padma said with a shrug, arriving to stand beside them. "Besides," she added, "you don't want us getting into an alliance without you, do you?"

"You _would_ turn a drink invitation into a threat," Dean muttered to Padma, rolling his eyes. "Come on," he urged, turning to nudge Hermione. "You've lived here for six months and haven't gone _anywhere_."

"Where exactly am I going to go?" Hermione said dubiously, kicking off her shoes. "Don't tell me there's some secret burgeoning downtown I don't know about."

Padma and Dean exchanged a glance. "She's not wrong," Padma said, and Dean laughed.

"Eh, maybe not, but Rosmerta's is fun after a long day," Dean said with a grin. "In its own, uniquely Diagon way. Besides," he added casually, "you can meet my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Padma echoed, looking surprised, but Dean shrugged.

"Hey, what's every institution's favorite thing to throw money at if not black, gay, low-income doctors," he reminded her cheerfully. "It's served me as well as it could over the years."

Padma shrugged; a tacit agreement.

"I'd love to go," Hermione lied slowly, "but - "

"No buts," Dean interrupted firmly. "Come on. It's been long enough."

"It really has," Padma agreed, leaning in. "People are starting to think you're the weird one," she whispered with a laugh.

"I _am_ the weird one," Hermione murmured, but Dean shook his head.

"It's final," he told her. "You're coming. You just scrubbed in on the most intense surgery I've ever personally witnessed - "

"One which, again, we would have killed you for," Padma cut in, smiling coolly.

" - and you're going to totally lose your shit soon if you don't unwind," Dean concluded. "Which, is fine, of course," he amended quickly, "seeing as I'd love to get you out of the way for when they choose next year's residents - "

"We might kill you then, too," Padma asserted.

" - but for now, I'd still rather have you around than what's-his-face over there," Dean muttered, gesturing over his shoulder.

Hermione snuck a surreptitious glance. "Corner," she determined, recognizing the back of his head. "Michael."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, shrugging. "Him. Like I said," he repeated, "better to hang out with you than him."

"You're _from_ here," Hermione reminded him, sighing. "Don't you have plenty of people to be friends with?"

"Seamus's friends are idiots," Dean informed her, with a flourish of finality. "Nothing but chasing pussy and taking shots. I want to have a good time," he clarified, "but I'm secure enough in my intellectualism to want people there who can balance a good time with, you know" - he shrugged - " _normal_ human restraint."

"Well, I'm in," Padma chirped, and Dean nodded his approval, reaching up from his seat on the bench to thump her firmly on the back.

"Good man, Patil," he said, and then turned to Hermione. "And you're in, too," he said, silencing her with a glare as she opened her mouth to protest. "Seriously. I'll even pick you up."

Hermione glanced warily between them, from Padma's silkily expectant smirk to Dean's look of suspended triumph.

"Fine," she sighed, and Dean stood, winking at her.

"Good," he trumpeted, grabbing his jacket and standing. "Take a nap. I'll come get you at nine."

"What about me?" Padma demanded, hands on her hips.

"You didn't scrub in today," Dean said with a laugh. "You can drive yourself."

"Fuck you," Padma determined briskly, but then they laughed, chatting as they left the room, and within a matter of minutes, the locker room was quiet.

Hermione dressed slowly and gathered her things, wandering out of St. Mungo's and towards the fading afternoon light. The _last_ thing she wanted was to go out tonight - the thought of drinking made her ill, as did the thought of socializing with strangers - but Dean was right enough, in his way. If she meant to continue in this program, she'd have to get to know the people around her. _They_ could all balance work with a social life. She'd have to prove that she could, too - much as she would prefer to sleep.

She paused outside the hospital, feeling the ache of exhaustion in her bones. The surgery _had_ been monumental - particularly for a small, specialized hospital like this one - and it had been an honor to be chosen, but it had been the longest she'd ever performed. At this point, she doubted she even had the energy to drive.

She leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. _Just five minutes_ , she told herself, _five minutes, and then you can get in your car and -_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar loud screech of tires coming to a desperate halt, followed by a door being slammed. It wasn't an uncommon noise by this point, despite how a normal person might have responded; Hermione, on the other hand, had grown familiar with the sounds of panic and desperation and the corresponding injury that inevitably manifested itself inside the hospital doors - they were the discordant melodies of her realm. She cracked one eye, wondering where it was coming from.

"Excuse me," someone grunted, the male voice low and vaguely intimate. She looked up in alarm, her breath caught by a set of stunning grey eyes as a man - who was surely no older than she was - staggered towards her. Behind her, the car he'd arrived in peeled out as cacophonously as it had arrived, racing towards the main street.

"Um," she managed, trying to piece together what was happening; he was uncomfortably attractive, she thought, her gaze traveling from his eyes to the pale blond of his hair, and then to the particularly strong angle of his jaw. "I - "

She stopped, her glance snagging unexpectedly on the copious amount of blood seeping from his left shoulder; she could see he was clutching it and grimacing in pain. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "Come with me," she determined instantly, shaking herself of her exhaustion and reaching for him. "The ER is right this way, and - "

"No," he gritted out, clearly struggling through the injury. His fingers, which bore roman numeral tattoos on the knuckles and a series of large, vaguely dangerous looking rings, tightened around his shoulder. "No, I can't, I - " he looked around anxiously. "I need _you_ to help me," he said, his voice still notably low.

She couldn't quite work out how he was managing to be so calm; injuries like this usually came in with wailing and cursing. "I can't," she said bluntly, blinking at him. _God, my brain is moving slowly,_ she thought, furious with herself. "I'm not really a doctor," she explained hastily. "I'm - I'm only an intern - "

"You're surgery, though, right?" he asked, his knuckles white as he clutched his shoulder. "Green scrubs," he supplied, gesturing for explanation, and she looked down to check before kicking herself. _Obviously,_ she fumed. _Hermione, you idiot._

"I can't help you," she repeated apologetically, though her eyes slipped repeatedly between the blood seeping towards his chest and the piercing intensity of his eyes. "I'm sorry, but that's hospital policy. But the emergency room is right this way," she explained hopefully, trying to coax him, "and I'll help you with anything you need - "

"You don't understand," he told her, looking feverish; he was stunning, even covered in blood. Her eyes flicked momentarily to the tattooed dragon that sloped over his neatly muscled forearm and she swallowed, wondering what was possessing her to listen to someone whose every feature seemed to distinctly shout _trouble_. "I can't go in there."

"Why not?" she asked vacantly, forcing herself to focus on what he was saying. "Insurance or something? Worry about that later," she advised, "surely we can figure something out - "

His expression instantly contorted into such an intensive display of agony and frustration that she found herself drained of words, trailing off as she spoke.

"I've got a fucking bullet lodged in my shoulder," he informed her, his voice a muted growl as he tore at his lip in agitation. "And I can't have someone taking it out of me and putting it some kind of fucking _police file_ \- " He cut off, swearing in pain. " _Fuck_ \- "

"Police file?" she repeated, stunned. "Who did this?"

He stared imploringly at her. "Just fucking _trust me_ ," he said, in a way that did not encourage any form of trust, "you really don't want to know - and it's either you help me," he added vehemently, "or I bleed out _right fucking now_ \- "

"You want me to break hospital policy _and_ the law?" Hermione interrupted, aghast. She looked around, wondering if anyone was watching; they weren't, thankfully, and she had never been more relieved that Dean and Padma were already gone. "You can't be serious, I could lose my license, I'd - I'd never get a job - "

"I won't fucking tell anyone," he gasped, staggering forward to grip her arm. The lines around his face were tight and grim. "Please, _please -_ "

"You're insane," she insisted, trying not to pay attention to the way his skin was going sallow and pale, his color waning. "Even putting aside the trouble I could get in" - _and I could_ , she reminded herself silently, _so much goddamn trouble_ \- "I could _kill_ you, I could do something wrong - " she cut off frantically, flailing her hands in panic as he groaned loudly in pain. "I don't even have a _sterile environment_ \- "

"What's your name?" he interjected, his grasp on her arm uncomfortably tight.

"Hermione," she said, and then shook her head. "I mean Granger - _Doctor_ Granger - "

"Granger, I'm fucking begging you," he pleaded, "take this fucking bullet out of my shoulder and end the _worst fucking day of my life_ , or just inject me with something and put me out of my misery altogether - "

He broke off, squeezing his eyes shut and flinching, his shirt now soaked with blood.

"That's a little dramatic," she managed, appalled at the sound of her own whimper.

But she'd taken an oath, hadn't she? She'd gone to medical school to _save lives,_ hadn't she? To do some good in the world? She shifted from foot to foot, inexplicably torn.

They were outside a hospital, she reminded herself; she could just _make_ him go to the ER. He was going to pass out any moment anyway, one yell would get an EMT out there. There was no reason she couldn't do things by the book, no matter what he said, or how desperate he looked - _god,_ he really did look like it was a matter of life or death -

She bit her lip, trying to focus. _Think of your career, Hermione, think of your life - you don't know what he's done -_

 _Does it matter?_ she scolded herself. _A life is a life, isn't it, Hermione? What happened to 'do no harm'?_

He, the attractive stranger that everything hinged so perilously on, shut his eyes, grimacing in pain; she, the medical professional, withered internally.

 _Even if this is the moral thing to do, are you even awake enough?_ she countered, forcing herself to be reasonable. _Fifteen hour shift and he wants you to slice open his shoulder -_

She shuddered. His mouth tightened in agony.

 _There are a million reasons not to_ , she reminded herself. She looked at his face, at the naked desperation etched into it, and tried to convince herself not to listen to what his grey eyes were telling her, tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut. _Don't do it, Hermione._

"Please," he whispered.

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Let me grab some tools," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "You stay here and pray I don't kill you."

* * *

"Hey," Hermione said, opening the door and settling herself in the passenger seat. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"No problem," Dean said smoothly, putting the car in reverse and backing carefully out of the driveway of her apartment complex. "Were you able to get some sleep?"

She blinked; grey eyes flooded her vision.

"Yeah," she lied.

" _What happened?" she asked him, unable to stand the curiosity. She'd moved her car to a nearby parking lot and set him up in the backseat, rejoicing in her unfailingly steady hand - truly, if ever a time had come to shake, that would have been it - and hoping her memory wouldn't fail her._

" _Trust me," he replied, lids heavy, "you don't want to know."_

"Good," Dean said curtly. "Been to Rosmerta's before?"

"No," Hermione replied. "Is it fun?"

"It's a shithole," Dean said with a laugh. "Absolute disaster of a place that I would not recommend to anyone. But," he conceded, glancing warmly at her, "Seamus is working tonight, so we'll at least drink for free."

"Good to know," she said, nodding. She leaned her head on her elbow, looking out the window.

"You good?" Dean asked tentatively, glancing at her.

" _Are you okay?" she asked him, trying not to let her gaze wander to the ink on his chest; a crest, she noted, catching the latin phrase._ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper _, she read, and quickly translated; Purity Always Conquers._

" _I've been better," he said, sparing half a smile. "But then again, I've been worse."_

"Fine," she replied, trying to smile reassuringly. "Just tired."

"I'll bet," Dean agreed. "You worked hard today."

Well. That was certainly true.

" _You're good at this," he commented, glancing down at where she had begun to stitch him up._

 _She laughed. "How would you know?"_

" _The look on your face," he said, unfazed by her skepticism. "You're focused," he explained, "and I like to think I can tell when someone's in their element."_

" _Strangely, that means a lot," she remarked sincerely. "Thank you."_

" _It should mean a lot," he said, and she looked up, her chest tightening as he met her gaze without hesitation. "I'm notoriously sparing with flattery."_

" _Oddly, I would have guessed that," she agreed, fighting a smile._

"I definitely did work hard today," she agreed, knowing Dean could not have known the half. "We all did."

"Eh, it's less fun to just observe," Dean said, pulling into a parking spot. The bar was, as Dean had described, not much to look at from the outside. "But I'm sure someday you'll have the opportunity to compliment me on _my_ fine work," he added, grinning, and as he stepped out of the car, she followed.

The inside of Rosmerta's was not unlike the outside; small and unimpressive, mostly, with a spattering of a group around the bar. It was generally clean - not terribly offensive, as far as small, shithole establishments went - and as Dean walked up to take a seat at the bar, Hermione took the stool beside his, trying not to be nervous.

"Hey," the bartender - Seamus, Hermione guessed - said, offering Dean a cheeky smile of welcome. "'Bout time."

"Bored without me?" Dean asked, returning the smile with an added glint of promise. "Or just lonely?"

"I'd love to be bored," Seamus replied. "Unfortunately, this crowd keeps me busy," he said, gesturing to the handful of people at the other end of the bar. "I'm Seamus," he added, throwing a towel over his shoulder and extending his hand to Hermione. "You one of Dean's doctor friends?"

"Hermione," she said, nodding as she gave his hand a quick squeeze. "You must be his - "

"Miscreant lover," Seamus returned with a wink, and then turned to grab two glasses. "What's your poison?"

She blinked.

" _Here," she said, shoving a bottle of whiskey at him. "Drink this. Distract yourself."_

" _I'm fine," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I think I can handle a little" - he broke off, hissing as she dug into the wound - "pain."_

" _That was convincing," she said, and he chuckled._

" _Fine," he conceded, tipping the bottle back against his lips. "Surprised to see a doctor riding around with this in her car," he added, eyeing the label._

" _It was a gift," she explained. "When I started here six months ago."_

" _Ah, nice and aged," he remarked jokingly. "Perfect."_

" _How is it?" she asked, as he made a small noise of discontentment. "Sorry, almost got it."_

" _You know, everything tastes a bit coppery at the moment," he commented. "Think that's psychological?"_

" _I was never great at psychology," she said, and he laughed._

" _I think I'll be tasting blood for a while," he lamented, and then tossed the bottle back, taking another large gulp._

"Um," Hermione said, trying to shake her mind free of him. "Bulleit, if you've got it. Rye," she added. "Neat."

Seamus raised his eyebrows. "Well my, my," he drawled. "The lady knows how to drink."

"I know a lot of things," Hermione confirmed briskly, and Seamus laughed.

"Here you go, sweetheart," he said, sliding it to her. "Friends and family discount."

"Where I'm from, that means I've just agreed to help you move," Hermione said offhandedly.

"Oh baby, that's universal," Seamus agreed, just as Padma swept through the door.

"Well," she determined, "this is . . . quaint." She threw herself down beside Hermione. "Really makes me feel - "

"Careful," Dean warned, glancing down the bar with a smile.

She paused; Seamus waited expectantly.

"Sober," Padma replied, and they all laughed. "Vodka soda, please," she said, and Seamus turned with a nod, setting himself to work on her drink.

"Hey, Thomas!"

Dean turned, and Hermione followed his glance to the opposite end of the bar.

"Weasley, man, what's up," Dean said, rising from his seat. The man who'd called his name was a tall, lean redhead, dressed casually in a flannel shirt and jeans. "Been a while."

"Too long," the redhead agreed, coming over to join them. "I'm Ron, by the way," he added, catching sight of Hermione and Padma and leaning over to wave before gesturing over his shoulder. "Hey, Harry," he barked, "come meet Dean!"

"This is Padma," Dean told him, gesturing, "and Hermione. They're interns at St. Mungo's with me."

"Ah, I forgot you're a fancy doctor-type now," Ron said brightly, giving Dean a light punch to the shoulder. "Can you look at something for me?"

"I told you, you're fine," a dark haired man said behind him, joining their group at the bar. "You _have_ to stop showing people that mole. Harry," he offered with a smile, holding out a hand for Hermione's. "Hermione, you said?"

"Yes," she confirmed, smiling back at him. He had a vaguely ruffled look to him - as though he didn't particularly care much for his appearance - but his green eyes were warm and kind, and he was handsome in a mischievous, vaguely reassuring way. "Nice to meet you."

"We're here celebrating," Ron explained, nodding to Harry. "Slughorn just made Potter here deputy."

"Slughorn," Dean scoffed, and behind the bar, Hermione caught Seamus making a face. "That's a name I'd forgotten how much I disliked."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been such a little shit, he might not have been a problem," Ron said merrily, slinging an arm around Dean's neck. "We went to high school together," he explained to Hermione, gesturing to himself, Dean, and Seamus. "Thick as thieves. Well," he amended, glancing wickedly between Dean and Seamus, "these two were thicker than I thought, I guess."

"You got in just as much shit with Slughorn as we did," Dean reminded him, shaking his head as Seamus laughed. "Can't believe they put a fucking _badge_ on you."

"Protect and serve," Ron murmured into his glass, chuckling.

"You're cops?" Padma asked, taking a sip of her drink and looking curiously at Harry and Ron.

"Diagon's finest," Ron confirmed, and Harry nodded.

"Something like that," he agreed, rolling his eyes.

"Are you from here too?" Hermione asked, reaching for her own glass.

Harry shook his head. "Nah. Transferred a few months ago." He leaned in. "Weird little town they've got here, isn't it?" he added, muttering in her ear.

"Hey, we heard that," Ron protested loudly, as Hermione laughed.

"We're new, too," she said, nudging Padma. "Well. New- _ish_."

"Doctors," Seamus told Harry and Ron loudly from behind the bar, pointing to their heads. "Brainiacs."

"What kind?" Harry asked.

Padma flashed him her slow, calculated grin. "The kind with knives," she said in a sultry purr, and Harry laughed.

"Watch out for her," Dean warned him, glancing over. "She _will_ bite."

"Surgeons, then?" Harry clarified, taking a sip of his beer. "Unless you meant that you're some kind of rogue band of murder doctors."

"Not mutually exclusive, is it?" Padma challenged.

" _Tell me one thing," Hermione said, "so that I feel less like a deranged criminal."_

" _You're not a deranged criminal," he replied. "Does that help?"_

" _Surprisingly, no," she said, though she could tell she was smiling. "Tell me something about you. I think it'll make me feel better."_

" _Nothing about me is going to make you feel better," he promised her with a smirk, but at her glance, he sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "What do you want to know?"_

 _She glanced down at the tattoo on his chest;_ Malfoy _, she read, and paused. "Your name," she decided._

" _That's it?" he asked, looking faintly amused. "My name?"_

" _Would you answer any other question?" she prompted, and he flashed her a knowing smirk._

" _Draco," he supplied, and she glanced at the dragon on his arm, imagining the sound of his name on her tongue -_

"You with us, Hermione?" Dean asked, nudging her.

"Not murder doctors," she said quickly, and they laughed.

"I asked where you were from," Harry explained, and she felt her face flush.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I, um - moved here from Boston."

"What she's not saying is that she went to Harvard Med," Padma clarified, taking a dainty sip. "And that the only reason we don't hate her is that we need her stupid brain."

"Really?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Harvard, huh?"

"Yeah," Hermione said with a shrug, quickly aiming to change the subject. "Didn't you say you'd just been made deputy?" she asked, straightening. "That's got to be a big deal, right?"

"Oh, you know," Harry said quickly, dropping his gaze in a charming show of humility. "It's an honor, obviously - "

"We call him the Chosen One," Ron cut in, making a face as he downed a shot of whiskey. "Slughorn fucking _loves_ him. Not that he shouldn't," Ron added hastily, giving Harry an affectionate nudge. "This asshole's one hell of a cop."

"I have a funny habit of surviving things I shouldn't," Harry explained wryly. "And Ron's not so bad either," he assured them, as Padma looked on in appreciation.

"What's it like being an officer of the law?" Padma asked innocently, letting the straw of her drink nudge coquettishly against her lip, and Ron took a step towards her, looking pleased.

"Well," he began, his chest thrust forward, "there's a lot of very significant life saving."

Harry chuckled, moving closer to Hermione as Ron shifted to speak to Padma. "What there's _really_ a lot of is paperwork," he said quietly. "But that doesn't really do much for the ladies."

"Odd," Hermione commented playfully. "But still, I suppose you must be awfully brave."

"And I suppose you must be awfully smart," Harry said back, taking another sip of his beer.

" _So," Draco said, "why surgery?" He waited for her response, watching her. "Just smarter than all the other doctors?"_

" _Ha," she said, shaking her head._

" _I'm not wrong, am I," he determined, watching her as she sighed, glancing up at him. "You're not denying it."_

" _I'm not going to tell you I'm not smart," she said evasively, "but that's not why I chose surgery."_

" _Why, then?" he asked, and she, for whatever reason, had been foolishly honest with him._

" _I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do some good in the world," she explained slowly, "but I chose surgery because I like the thrill. People don't expect that from me," she added. "They find me bookish and odd, or assume that I'd be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I'm told. But the truth is - "_

" _You want adventure," he supplied. "Adrenaline junkie," he added, flashing her a rare smile. "I know what that's like."_

" _My adventures don't usually end with bullet wounds," she pointed out._

" _Neither do mine," he said. "And yet, here we both are."_

"I'm smart," she agreed, taking a sip of her drink. "And you're brave. I think it's fair to admit to our strengths."

"It's not a bad combo," Harry concluded, nodding, and looked around. "It's getting kind of loud," he commented - with the slightest hint of suggestion - and she realized that the bar had filled up considerably since they'd arrived. Ron and Dean were dancing with Padma to a song she didn't recognize and Hermione, finding herself alone with Harry, glanced searchingly at him, wondering what was happening between them.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Harry asked carefully.

" _Done," Hermione had pronounced definitively, eyeing her handiwork - which wasn't bad, considering. "You'll need to take care of it, of course - use this on it, and make sure it doesn't get infected, and - "_

" _You're free of me, Doc," Draco said quietly, catching the tips of her fingers in his free hand as she flailed around absentmindedly, trying to think of everything he would need. "You've done more than enough already."_

 _She hesitated. "I just want to make sure that - "_

" _Thank you," he said, cutting her off. He released her hand and she let it float down to her side, rejoining the rest of her. "Really. Thank you for everything."_

" _Draco," she began tentatively, and he looked intently at her, searching her face._

" _Thank you," he said again, his gaze falling helplessly to her lips; and then he was gone._

She doubted she would ever see him again.

"Sure," she agreed, downing the remainder of her glass and smiling at Harry. "Let's go."

* * *

 **a/n:** dedicated to potter-centric for being the first review!


	3. Terrible, Wild, Lawless

**Chapter 3: Terrible, Wild, Lawless**

"Well," Theo opened tentatively, "does it hurt?"

Draco glared at him, his hand wrapped tightly around his shoulder. "No," he grunted. "Just your standard gunshot mundanity."

"No need to be a dick," Theo retorted sulkily, but his more resilient nature summoned a laugh out of him as he slumped down in his chair. "Though I suppose that was not my most remarkable show of intellect," he conceded, flashing Draco a hesitant grin.

"Well, don't sell yourself short," Draco said airily, taking a sip of his beer. "You've managed less impressive shows."

At that they exchanged glances, smirking.

"Really, though," Theo pressed, "you okay?"

Draco shrugged. "Just a flesh wound," he permitted vacantly, though in truth, he was suffering from a pulsing throb that had yet to fully dull. "I'll survive." He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "If there's one thing to be said for Fenrir Greyback, it's that he knows what he's doing. Not exactly a lethal shot," he explained, cracking one eye.

"Definitely not a kill shot," Theo agreed, glancing at him. "Something tells me that if he wanted you dead, you fucking would be."

Draco grimaced in agreement. Fenrir had only shot to injure - to _inconvenience -_ so that by the time Theo had his gun cocked the other three had simply laughed their way out, tires squealing as they left Draco behind to bleed all over Theo's car.

"Yeah," Draco muttered. "Obviously he needed someone to pass along the message." He clutched his shoulder, applying pressure to the ache as he took another sip, letting the IPA swirl around to steep his tongue in bitterness before swallowing. "Someone to pass along the _threat_ , I should say," he amended after a moment; _tell Riddle I want his head._

"Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'don't shoot the messenger,'" Theo commented wryly, turning his head to glance at Draco. "Bummer, brother." He jerked his chin, gesturing. "You all good now? You never told me how you got things sorted."

"I did not," Draco agreed, tipping the bottle against his lips.

After a few seconds of expectant silence, Theo sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he muttered. "If you'd rather be mysterious - "

"I told you, I got a doctor to sew me up," Draco reminded him. "Good as new," he lied.

He rolled his shoulder at that, feeling it tighten and throb. _Thank fucking Christ she knew what she was doing, too,_ he thought helplessly, trying to shake the doctor's wide brown eyes from his consciousness.

 _Granger_ , he remembered, and then corrected himself - _Doctor Granger,_ he amended. He was a man who understood titles, who grasped the order of things; it would never escape him to give her her due. He rolled the name around on his tongue, the comforting sound of it singing through the marrow of his bones.

She'd had a look to her; if he had to call it something, he supposed it could be innocence, though that wasn't quite right. She was no doe-eyed damsel along for the ride. She had an appealing finesse to her, a wary tenacity - _adrenaline junkie,_ he remembered, and barely suppressed a shiver - but still, being near her had been something of a reprieve, like a splash of cold water, baptizing him in her gaze. Everyone in Draco's world was coated in a thick fog of things they'd seen - things they'd _done_ \- and she, Dr Granger, was effortlessly untainted.

 _Poor thing_ , he thought, remembering the question in her gaze before he'd walked away. There was curiosity there, he could tell; she was practically licking her lips from the taste of it. _Draco -_

 _Don't do it,_ he'd thought fiercely, knowing what longing looked like and seeing the telltale signs. _If you're lucky,_ he tried to tell her, tried to shout as he pulled away, _you'll never see me again._

It had been chivalry, he supposed, or something like it; some weak attempt to spare her the catastrophe that he knew perfectly well that he would be for her. Unfortunately, what he hadn't counted on - and what he knew would become evident if he shared any detail of his miraculous healing with Theo - was how difficult it had been for him to drag himself away from her.

"If you want secrets," Theo said loudly, interrupting his thoughts and passing him a sideways glance, "you can have them."

It was, Draco knew, a generous offer; _unfairly_ generous, seeing as Theo had none, and Draco sighed. "It's not that," he said hesitantly, "it's just that - "

The loud bang of the double doors cut him off and they instantly heaved themselves to their feet, offering each other a steadying glance. _Tell you later,_ Draco mouthed, and Theo nodded, both looking up to catch the procession of Death Eaters that trickled out of the boardroom. They looked uncharacteristically pensive, Draco noted, each step seeming somehow deliberate, as if they'd all just been released from captivity.

"Is it just me," Theo murmured, frowning, "or does something look amiss?"

"Not just you," Draco returned quietly, feeling his brow furrow. "Mulciber," he called, catching sight of him and gesturing; Darian, in return, nodded amicably, pointing himself their way.

"Draco," he said, nodding in greeting. "Theo."

"What happened in there?" Draco asked, his gaze flicking over Darian's shoulder to see Avery exit the double doors, looking dazed. "Seems tense."

Darian shrugged, exuding his usual nonchalance, though he appeared to choose his words carefully. "Yes and no," he concluded slowly. "Slughorn's in there," he supplied in explanation, gesturing over his shoulder. "So it was _unusual_ , to say the least."

"Slughorn?" Draco echoed, casting a confused glance at Theo.

At Theo's blanched look of dismay, Darian shook his head, glaring sternly. "Hold your fucking tongue, Nott," Darian warned softly, brows arched. "This isn't a day to be smart with the police chief."

"It never is," Theo grumbled, but at a second glare from Darian, he softened, smirking. "Fucker never let us get away with _shit_ ," he said, and Draco nodded his bitter agreement.

Darian huffed his acknowledgement, but shrugged again. "I suspect that tide may have changed," he guessed. "Slughorn's toeing the line of retirement," he offered in explanation, and then Draco nodded, the police chief's motivation beginning to make sense. "Seems to want to get in with Tom before he goes."

"Figures," Draco muttered, unsurprised; beside him, Theo shook his head, mildly repulsed. "Slughorn always was a man who enjoyed his privileges."

"A man whose loyalty could be bought, you mean," Theo corrected. "Or else we might have been arrested a few times over," he added, smirking at Draco.

"Small favors," Darian reminded them, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Life lesson, boys: a man that predictable can have his advantages."

"True," Theo said, shrugging, "though I don't particularly wish him well."

"Doesn't matter what you wish," Darian returned indifferently. "This is Tom's show. Don't forget that," he said emphatically, and Draco nodded, grasping the point. _Hold your tongue._

"So," Draco continued, straightening, "who's he chosen as his - "

"Draco," Lucius hissed, suddenly materializing behind Darian's shoulder and causing the other man to jump. "What the fuck happened with Greyback?"

"Dad," Draco said curtly. "Lovely to see you."

"Don't fuck around," Lucius growled as Theo ducked his head, covering a laugh. "What happened?"

"My shoulder got in the way of his bullet," Draco retorted drily, ignoring Darian's tiny head shake of disapproval. _Hold your tongue,_ Darian mouthed again in warning before slipping away, heading past them to join the other Death Eaters at the club's bar.

"I _meant_ ," Lucius clarified, looking murderous, "what happened with the deal?"

Draco sighed.

It was an unsurprising reaction, all things considered, and while Draco might have preferred a more paternal response, he knew better than to expect one. Lucius was a loyalist when it came to Tom; he'd been rewarded well for it, and he was a man who liked rewards. The concept of Draco having a near death experience was clearly lost on Lucius, whose pride in his son was dependent on Draco continuing to be the golden boy, a prince among thieves, and the assured leader of the next generation of Death Eaters. Not that Draco could blame him for that, of course; after all, he'd wanted a Harley and a cut of his own since he was barely five years old. Tom's approval - the _Death Eaters_ ' approval - was a source of pride for Draco, too.

Or it had been, in any case - though he didn't care much for bullet holes.

Theo opened his mouth and then closed it, catching Draco's threatening glance. "No deal," Theo supplied flatly in answer to Lucius's question, his lips pressed thin, barricading the many things he could have said.

"I gathered that much," Lucius returned venomously. " _Why_ was there no deal?"

Draco opened at his mouth to respond, but at the low, crooning sound of "Lucius, we're waiting," from inside the boardroom, his father promptly let out a groan, turning on his heel and gesturing moodily for the other two to follow.

"Don't fuck up in there," Lucius warned carelessly over his shoulder, glaring preemptively at both of them before squaring his shoulders, tossing them back to stride pridefully back into the room.

"I'm fine, by the way," Draco muttered under his breath to Theo, who snickered before obligingly heading inside the boardroom.

"Gentlemen," Tom said, waving a hand to beckon them as they entered; unsurprisingly, he did not stand upon greeting, but merely gestured lazily to his side. "I presume you know Horace?"

"Malfoy," Slughorn said, nodding to him before shifting in his seat, his portly belly nudging intimately against the table. "Nott."

"Officer Slughorn," Draco returned, tipping his head in an irreverent bow before acknowledging Tom. "We're something of old friends, one could say," he mused, grinning.

" _Friends_ being, of course, a stretch," Slughorn returned, one brow arched.

"I think it's probably sufficient to say we're familiar," Theo contributed loftily. "Though this, of course, is a surprise under any circumstances," he added, his green eyes flicking pointedly from the notorious skull-and-snake emblem of the table to the gold edge of Slughorn's badge.

At the unsubtle reminder of his position, Slughorn paled; beside him, Tom tapped a finger lightly against the head of the carved snake, his ring glinting in the light. "They, like the others, are bound to discretion," Tom murmured to Slughorn, his voice a gentle caress of reassurance. "You did the right thing, coming here."

Slughorn grunted; skeptical agreement.

"Rumor has it you've selected a new deputy," Draco commented offhandedly, taking a seat. At that, Slughorn's brow furrowed in question; an indication of surprise, Draco guessed.

"Hazards of the job," Theo supplied in explanation, settling himself at Draco's right hand. "We keep an eye on the office."

"I see," Slughorn said, clearing his throat. "I hadn't realized you two cared much for politics."

"The City is what it is because our citizens are what they are," Draco quoted in answer, leaning back in his chair.

"Plato, I believe," Theo contributed, and Draco offered him a brusque nod of confirmation, not letting his gaze stray from Slughorn's. "Though I subscribe more to the Machiavellian, myself," Theo added with a grin.

"And to think, Slughorn," Draco drawled, pulling facetiously at his chin, "you once berated us for skipping Civics."

There was a thick, tense silence for a moment, and then Tom laughed, a syrupy sound that was as much a warning as it was a mechanism of amusement.

"As I said, Horace, you'd be a fool to underestimate the Death Eaters," Tom said quietly. "There's a bit more to our purpose than mayhem." At the reminder, Slughorn seemed to cool slightly, an action that was rewarded with a nod from Tom. "They'll be discreet," Tom repeated quietly, and Slughorn nodded, looking half convinced.

"I did choose a deputy," Slughorn confirmed slowly, glancing between Draco and Theo. "I hadn't realized it was such accessible knowledge."

"Not Weasley, I hope," Theo scoffed, his nostrils flaring delicately in distaste. He and Draco shared a look of revulsion, recalling Ron Weasley from their school days. It remained unfathomable to both of them that the youngest Weasley son had ever managed a badge, though they both suspected his brother, Percy, to have had something to do with it from his seat on the planning commission.

"No, not Ron," Slughorn said, shaking his head. "Harry Potter," he supplied.

"Potter?" Draco echoed, frowning as he ran through his mental database of names. "Not from Diagon then, is he?"

Slughorn shook his head. "Knockturn," he provided. "A transfer. Hell of a cop," he added proudly. "Though, of course, pliable enough, I'd bet," Slughorn said, giving Tom a nervous look of reassurance.

 _Ah,_ Draco thought, catching the glance. So there was some longevity intended in this alliance.

"I certainly hope so, Horace," Tom agreed, flashing a cool smile. "Knockturn, you said?" he asked, and Slughorn nodded. "A timely segue, then, as we recently had a bit of a falling out with a citizen from there." Tom glanced up, meeting Draco's eye. "Didn't we, brothers?"

On Draco's left, Lucius's fist clenched. _Hold your tongue,_ Draco thought to himself, ignoring the telling throb in his shoulder.

"Tell me, Horace," Tom ventured slowly, "what do you know about Fenrir Greyback?"

At the name, Slughorn made a gesture that looked to be some kind of warning shudder. "Reigning druglord," he supplied. "Occasional spillover into Diagon, but rare. He's a foot soldier at his core," Slughorn explained. "Knows his place, for the most part."

"Unless he's invited?" Theo guessed, smirking. Draco elbowed him sharply; _Don't,_ he cautioned.

 _Hold your tongue._

"Well, yes," Slughorn agreed with a shrug. "He's gotten in a few retaliation-related hits over the years, but other than that, he keeps to his side of the county line."

"Interesting," Tom murmured. "And could we count on Diagon police, then, if he were to . . . venture out?" he suggested, with what Draco detected to be a false display of caution.

"Without a doubt," Slughorn said, confused. "The mayor certainly wouldn't be pleased to hear about that kind of intrusion into Diagon. And you can count on Potter's support, as well," he said, though there was something about the tentativeness in his tone - the afterthought of it all - that made Draco question how much Slughorn had actually confided in his chosen deputy. "He knows Greyback's behavior about as well as anyone."

"Excellent," Tom concluded, a smile skating across his lips. "Well," he said briskly, "I think _we_ " - he gestured to Lucius, Draco, and Theo - "have some private matters to attend to. But I imagine you will all be seeing each other again quite soon," he suggested, his blue eyes scanning approvingly over the occupants of the table, "as this kinship pleases me greatly."

"Kinship," Theo echoed silkily, glancing at Slughorn. "Funny that, isn't it?"

Slughorn, who had been rising from his seat, stopped abruptly before straightening.

"My allegiance," Slughorn began slowly, "does not mean that you may make a mockery of the Diagon police, Nott." He straightened, a hardened look passing over his features as he moved to exit the room. "I'm sure I don't need to inform you that this is no forum for your boyhood rebellion."

At that, Tom glanced at Draco. _Prove yourself,_ he beckoned, his mouth twisted into an expectant smile.

"Slughorn," Draco called at his back, prompting the aging officer to pause before reaching for the door. "There is in every one of us," he said slowly, "even those who seem to be most moderate, a type of desire that is terrible, wild, and lawless."

Slughorn pivoted slowly. "Plato again," he wagered evenly.

"You understand, don't you?" Draco prompted, tilting his head. "The subversions we make. Yours and ours."

 _If I am terrible,_ Draco informed him silently, _then so are you._

"Kinship," Slughorn agreed quietly, and down the table, Tom nodded his approval.

Draco smiled. "Glad to see we understand each other."

Slughorn paused for a moment, looking as though he would speak, but then appeared to think better of it, reaching for the door and passing through it without a second glance.

"Well done, Draco," Tom murmured, as the doors closed behind Slughorn's retreating form. "If only I could say the same for your other endeavors."

Draco swallowed. "Been making new friends, Tom?" he gambled, gesturing to where Slughorn had been.

"I've had to, considering my circumstances," Tom replied evenly. "Am I to assume Greyback had a message for me?" he asked, tracing his finger over the head of the carved snake.

There was something to the movement, Draco noted; a lack of surprise, and an eerie thrill of calm that emanated from Tom's posture and struck Draco as unsettlingly omniscient.

 _Tell Riddle I want his head._

"I think," Draco determined slowly, his gaze helplessly following the movement of Tom's finger, "you've likely caught on to it already."

Tom's smile broadened. "Time to find a new buyer," he mused, and Draco, stunned into silence, merely nursed his aching shoulder, wondering firstly whether he was still Tom's favorite, and secondly, whether that particular role might eventually get him killed.

* * *

"This isn't what I was expecting," Hermione remarked ambiguously, looking around Harry's apartment. She caught the crisp pop and clatter of a bottle being opened from inside the kitchen and then settled herself on his couch, still looking around as Harry reappeared.

"What were you expecting?" he prompted with a smile, handing her a beer.

"Trophies, I think," she said, accepting the beverage, and he chuckled.

"What, heads mounted on the wall?" he asked, as he moved to sit comfortably beside her on the couch. "I keep those in the bedroom where they belong."

Hermione laughed. "I guess I meant that you might have more _things_ ," she explained, indulging in a sip of the citrus-laced hefeweizen. "This looks like you've just moved in."

"I have a couch," he said, gesturing to the cushion beneath them, "and a coffee table, like a civilized person."

"Yes," she agreed, "but no pictures. Nothing personal," she explained, gesturing around the room for emphasis. "Like you could breeze out of here any moment and not have left anything behind."

"Habit," he offered, taking a sip of his beer. "I'm a bit of an orphan."

"A _bit_ of an orphan?" she asked, cocking one brow. "Just a bit?"

"Well, I'm an orphan," he clarified, grinning. "My parents died when I was young and I was raised by my aunt and uncle, who weren't particularly fond of me. I just sort of inhabited their vacant space, and left as soon as I could."

"What happened to them?" Hermione asked. "Your parents, I mean." At his nearly imperceptible flinch, she cringed. "I mean, if that's too personal - "

"No, it's fine," he said, his jaw clenched as he raised the glass bottle to his lips. "They were killed," he provided brusquely. "Sort of why I became a cop."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, and then hastily leapt to change the subject. "So after the aunt and uncle, it never occurred to you to make a home somewhere?" she asked, and he shook his head, though she watched his features soften gratefully at the sharp turn in conversation.

"Never felt worth it," Harry said. "Easier this way, you know?" At Hermione's nod, he took another sip, glancing at her. "What about you? A bit of an orphan as well?" he teased.

"I'm not an orphan," Hermione said with a smile, "though it feels that way at times. I went to boarding school for high school and then away for college and med school, and then my parents retired in Australia, and it's just - " she threw a hand up, shrugging in tired resignation. "Like we barely know each other now, I guess."

"No siblings?" Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"Nope," she said, nudging the bottle against her bottom teeth. "Just me."

"Think you'll stay here?"

She shrugged. "I always _try_ to put down roots, but they rarely stick," she said, and then laughed. "So I guess I'm not all that different from your empty apartment, now that I think about it."

"My apartment isn't empty," Harry insisted. "Couch, remember? And coffee table?" He slid closer to her and she sat up, instinctively leaning towards him as her pulse gratifyingly picked up speed. "And you're not empty either, even if you don't have roots."

"I suppose maybe we're just the kind of people who don't need a home," Hermione suggested quietly, her throat going dry as Harry slid an arm around her shoulder.

"Maybe we're too addicted to the thrill of being in the wind?" Harry postulated. "Adventurers of sorts?"

 _Adrenaline junkie,_ Hermione heard Draco say, prompting a shiver up her spine as she nodded breathlessly and Harry leaned in, brushing his lips experimentally against hers. He pulled back to gaze quizzically at her, pausing as he searched her face for permission; she smiled at him and he, in response, visibly discarded his caution, drawing her into his arms and closing his eyes as he kissed her.

For a moment her heart raced, a response to something new and exciting. The feel of Harry's chest pressed against hers served as a blissful reminder of what she'd been so long deprived; touch, really, and a moment without stress. She relaxed in his arms, turning towards him, and Harry slipped a hand to her waist, his fingers hovering gently above the waistband of her jeans.

She sat her beer on the coffee table, pressing her cold fingers against Harry's jaw. He shivered a little, pulling her closer, and she let him, feeling bold as she slipped her tongue against his. She slid her hands to his collarbone, spreading her fingers wide, and thought about the way his lips were softer than she might have guessed, the way his tongue tasted a little sweeter than she expected, and he was warm and reassuring and -

"Death Eaters," she realized aloud, pulling away and blinking, suddenly remembering the script that had laced itself around Draco's upper arm. "Does that - is that a thing?"

"What?" Harry asked vacantly, his green eyes unfocused as they met hers.

"I - sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I, um, just remembered - but nevermind," she said hastily, pulling his face back to hers.

"Mmphm," Harry agreed, pulling her against him as he leaned back against the cushions. She reached up, tugging his collar towards her, before her consciousness suddenly filled with the skull-and-snake emblem on Draco's wrist, the crest on his chest, the markings on his knuckles -

"It's just," Hermione blurted out, surfacing for a moment, "that's not like, a _gang_ , is it?"

"Um, sort of," Harry said, blinking. "It's a motorcycle club - bikers, you know - "

"Bikers?" Hermione repeated, then nodded, her lips parting to accommodate a wordless _ahh_ of recognition, taking that as an acceptable reason to be covered in tattoos. "Got it," she said, then returned to kissing Harry, wriggling against him as he slipped his hand under her shirt.

"Wait," she said, remembering, "did you say _sort of_?"

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed, looking vaguely tormented as he ceased his hand's path towards the clasp of her bra. "I mean, I don't know a lot about them, but it's fairly common knowledge around town that they're, you know, more than just _enthusiasts._ "

"What does that mean?" she asked, frowning.

"They're supposedly a bunch of, I don't know" - he shrugged - "mechanics, I guess," Harry explained. "But over the years there's been a fair amount of criminal activity connected to them. Vigilante justice, that kind of thing," he clarified. "Some evidence of intimidation that later gets tossed out, retribution against outsiders, that sort of stuff."

"Oh," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Are they dangerous?"

"To tell you the truth, I really don't know," Harry replied, shrugging. "I mean, Ron hates them, but that's just some sort of lingering bad blood as far as I can tell. Other people love them. And most people respect their authority in some way," he added, looking as though he were making an effort to be fair. "There's at least _some_ understanding that they protect the town, but - "

He paused, hesitating, and Hermione nudged him. "But what?" she pressed.

"Well, I mean, I came from Knockturn, which is a bigger city," Harry explained. "More crime, so I'm sort of familiar with the dynamic - and it's just a feeling, but I would say that even if the Death Eaters aren't _currently_ dangerous, they strike me as vaguely questionable. Especially the new leader, seeing as he's a bit of an enigma." He reached up, running a thumb across Hermione's lip. "You seem awfully curious about them," Harry murmured. "Am I not holding your interest?"

"Oh god, I'm sorry," Hermione said, blushing. "You're right, I'm being _so_ strange - it's just that I saw someone with it tattooed on them today, and it just popped into my head, and I don't know - I'm tired," she said lamely, emitting a strained laugh that sounded more like a hiccup as she tore her focus away from her memory of Draco - _trust me, you don't want to know -_ and back to Harry's earnest green eyes. "Exhausted, actually, and I guess my mind is elsewhere - "

"It's okay," Harry interjected gently, moving to sit up. "You don't have to feel bad."

"I just - I guess this isn't the best night for this," Hermione rambled apologetically. "I'm sure I must seem like an absolute _crazy_ person - "

"No," Harry corrected quickly. "You seem like a brilliant person with priorities," he said, grinning. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Isn't there?" Hermione asked, wincing. Harry, in turn, removed his hand from her waist, bringing it up to cup her cheek reassuringly.

"You know," he began, tossing her a smile, "if you're looking for a friend, I'm in the market for one of those as well," he offered. "It's hard being a stranger in a strange land."

"Tell me about it," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "The hospital is such a stressful place, and I just - " she let out a swift exhale, offering him a weakly hopeful smile. "I really, _desperately_ would like a friend, if you're offering."

"Friends, then," Harry said, supplying her with a hand, which she accepted, giving it a firm shake. "If sex becomes part of the equation later on, I'm happy to consider it," he added jokingly, pulling her into a hug. "I can put it before the board."

She laughed, which quickly devolved to a yawn. "Sorry," she said hastily, mortified with herself. "Really, I'm just - "

"You can stay here, if you want," Harry suggested. "It's not a bad couch, really, and I've got extra blankets. Plus," he added, baring his palms for evidence, "I am, after all, a gentleman."

"You are," she agreed, "but I should get home, really, I just - "

"Look," he said, slipping out from under her, "let me get you a glass of water and you can think about it. And if you're sure, I'll get you a cab." He stood, looking down to gift her with his mischievous smile. "Sound good?"

She sighed. "You're pretty great, you know that?" she accused him, squinting, and he laughed, raking a hand through his hair as he turned to enter the kitchen.

By the time he came back, glass in hand, she had already fallen asleep.

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to aurorarsinistra, who dropped her phone on her face while reading the last chapter and made me giggle by telling me about it. Also, both quotes come from _The Republic_ by Plato.

To those of you who thought I had changed this to a Harmony: you are clearly new here, so hello, welcome, I'm Olivie, complete and utter Dramione Wasteland. For those of you drawing Sons of Anarchy references, you're not off base with the comparison, but yes, this will be a different plot. Lastly, for those of you who read my other work, I'm a bit behind this week, but expect _Nocturnes_ tomorrow, and _Nobility_ on Friday or Saturday. Thanks for reading!


	4. Fine Delusions

**a/n: Smut ahead.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Fine Delusions**

"Arabella Figg, sixty years old," Padma said, picking up the diminutive woman's chart, "presented early this morning suffering from injuries related to a fall down the stairs - "

"My cats," Arabella explained, looking sheepish. "Always underfoot, you see, and they're - well, they're a bit of a shifty breed, truth be told, they've got these" - she paused, holding her hands up to her face, "overlarge eyes, and it's all a bit dodgy with them - "

Padma frowned. "I'll add paranoia to the list," she muttered, scribbling on the clipboard, as Arabella's eyes widened.

"No, it's not paranoia," she said quickly, "it's not that I suspect they're _actually_ out to get me, it's only that they _could_ , I think - "

"Some abrasions," Padma continued, not looking up, "but mostly a fracture from the impact to her patella, so I ordered x-rays and called for an orthopedic consult to make sure there was no damage to the surrounding ligaments. Barring surgery - "

"Surgery?" Arabella squeaked, jolting upright and then wincing in pain. "Dr. Patil, surely you don't mean to tell me - "

"We'll see when the ortho consult arrives," Padma said briskly, and then looked up, awaiting approval from their attending physician, Dr. Pomfrey.

"Er, Arabella, was it?" Dr. Pomfrey asked, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on the patient's shoulder. "You're fine, ma'am, this is just standard protocol, considering the details of your fall." She gave the woman's shoulder a brisk pat. "Dr. Patil is very thorough; though, perhaps, less sensitive than one would hope," she added meaningfully, and from where he stood between Hermione and Padma, Dean let out a barely concealed snicker.

"What?" he protested indignantly, glowering back as Hermione and Padma both glared warningly at him. "Your bedside manner leaves quite a bit to be desired."

"Whatever," Padma offered under her breath, as Dr. Pomfrey got caught in conversation with the fidgety Arabella. "The woman will _not stop_ talking about her cats, and I've been here for _ten fucking -_ "

"Is that all, Dr. Patil?" Dr. Pomfrey prompted, and Padma snapped to attention, nodding.

"Yes, Dr. Pomfrey, that's all," she said, and their attending nodded.

"Dr. Granger?" she prompted. "Yours?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, stepping forward as they shifted their attention to the second bed in the room. "Gilderoy Lockhart, thirty-four, presented yesterday afternoon with moderate head trauma. I ordered a psych consult, but it proved, er" - she paused, biting her lip - "a bit challenging."

"Ah, hello," Gilderoy said brightly, propping himself up to greet them. "Gilderoy Lockhart, lovely to meet you all - would you like me to sign this?" he offered eagerly, reaching for her clipboard.

"Oh, not just now, Mr Lockhart," Hermione said hurriedly, clutching his medical chart to her chest. "Perhaps later - "

"Your breasts, then," Gilderoy said brightly, "shall I sign those?"

Dean coughed, covering a laugh behind his hand, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush.

"Er, Mr Lockhart is suffering from a rather disconcerting mix of confusion and memory loss," she murmured, stepping close to Dr. Pomfrey as he excitedly gestured to Padma, miming an autograph across her chest. "Amnesia, delusions of grandeur, some evidence of mania - "

"The psych consult?" Dr. Pomfrey prompted.

"Not entirely fruitful," Hermione admitted, watching as Gilderoy sat up, posing artificially, as though Dean were holding a camera. "He wasn't entirely lucid at the time. They're coming back this afternoon."

"Good," Dr. Pomfrey deduced, frowning as she watched him; he flexed his bicep, winked, and continued posing. "And your thoughts?"

"I think it's safe to rule out Parkinson's or Huntington's," Hermione said, noting the lack of relevant symptoms. "Early onset dementia is a more likely possibility."

"Mm, poor bastard," Dr. Pomfrey said, her critical gaze still fixed on their patient. "Though by the looks of it, perhaps we'd be better off living in his delusion."

Hermione suppressed a laugh as Gilderoy offered them a grandiose bow from the waist down. "I suppose," she agreed.

Hermione made the relevant notes on Gilderoy's charts before following the other interns as they shuffled out of the room and into the hallway, awaiting instruction.

"Alright," Dr. Pomfrey sighed, glancing at her interns, "Dr. Patil, you're in the clinic - Dr. Granger, you and Dr. Thomas are scrubbing in on the kidney transplant this afternoon - Dr. Corner - "

"Transplant?" Padma hissed. "You two? While I'm on fucking _clinic_ duty?"

"You said yourself you've been here ten hours," Hermione reminded her. "Do you really want - what, ten more?"

"Yes!" Padma exclaimed. "That's the fucking _point_ , isn't it?"

"Maybe Pomfrey's hoping you'll learn how to behave like a human," Dean joked, nudging her. "Just ask a few patients how their day is going and, you know, let her overhear - "

"I'm a _surgeon_ , not a _therapist_ ," Padma growled irritably as Dr. Pomfrey cut them loose and they turned, walking down the hall. "What do I care how they're feeling?"

"Why did you even want to be a doctor?" Dean asked, smirking. "Seems you'd have been better suited to building missiles or programming robots or something."

"Ugh, that would be a joy," Padma sighed wistfully. "Binary. Just zeroes and ones - "

"If only people were that simple," Dean remarked, and Hermione let out a disbelieving laugh.

"If only people were more like robots?" she asked, shaking her head. "You're both fully psychopathic."

"Hey, my sanity could do with having to care about our patients less," Dean said with a shrug. "I mean, it's not going to be fun when you tell your loony headcase patient that he's, you know, a _loony headcase_ ," he said pointedly, "and not actually a famous celebrity magician, or whatever he said he was - "

"No, but at least it's not boring," Hermione remarked evenly, and then glanced down at her watch.

"Got somewhere to be?" Dean asked, and at his hint of intrigue, Padma leaned in curiously to listen. "Meeting up with your boyfriend?"

"He's not my _boyfriend_ ," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "He just stops by with coffee every now and then."

"Is this the guy from Rosmerta's?" Padma asked. "The cop you banged last week?"

"I - I didn't!" Hermione insisted, and the other two giggled conspiratorially, nudging each other like children as her face reddened. "I _didn't_ , we're just _friends -_ "

"Bummer," Dean said, shaking his head. "He was kind of hot. And you kind of _really_ need to get some," he added, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"I do not," Hermione protested, but Padma held up a hand.

"You just questioned our _humanity,_ " she said. "I think you could stand to loosen up a bit." Her lips curled up in a smile. "You know. _Unwind._ "

"How long has it been, anyway?" Dean asked, feigning innocence, and Hermione threw her head back in frustration.

 _Too long,_ she thought, remembering how she'd been too tired to even touch _herself_ last night; she supposed they really weren't wrong.

Not that it mattered.

"I'm not telling _you_ ," she groaned, stomping towards the exit. "And I won't be sharing any of my coffee with you, either - "

"You'd be a happier person if he knew less about how you took your coffee," Dean called after her, "and more about how you like your" - he dropped his voice, mouthing to her - " _pussy licked -_ "

"And you call yourself a _medical professional,_ " she interjected with a warning hiss, making a face before walking through the automatic door, his and Padma's laughter echoing in the atrium behind her.

"Hey," Harry said, rolling down the window of his patrol car. "Brought a friend this morning."

"Hey Ron," Hermione said, pleasantly surprised as she leaned against the passenger side. "Good to see you."

"You too," he said brightly, as Harry passed her the cup of coffee through the window. "Kicking ass and saving lives?"

"Something like that," she agreed, taking a sip; perfect, as always. "I'm just checking on patients this morning. Scrubbing in with Dean on a kidney transplant this afternoon," she added, knowing she probably looked a bit smug with pleasure.

Harry let out a low whistle, impressed. "Wow," he remarked, flashing her his indulgently attentive smile. "That's awesome."

"What about you?" she said. "Kicking ass and saving lives?" she prompted, grinning.

Ron grimaced, leaning his head back with a petulant sigh. "No," he grumbled. "Slughorn's got us keeping an eye on the Death Eaters' clubhouse."

 _Death Eaters,_ she thought, recalling the script that sloped over Draco's arm -

"Clubhouse?" Hermione echoed, her heart leaping against her will.

"They call it the Manor, because they're pretentious _dicks_ ," Ron said sullenly, and Harry chuckled.

"I mentioned the bad blood, right?" he asked her, gesturing to Ron's sulking. "It looks a bit like this."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Bad blood?" she asked. "With anyone in particular?"

 _Don't say it, don't say it -_

"A few of 'em," Ron said, a shadow of distaste passing over his face. "Fuckers. They were assholes in high school, and they're assholes now. They think they're above the law," he added, with a genuine look of disgust. "Or worse, that they _are_ the law."

"When everyone knows _you_ are," Harry said, clapping a hand good-naturedly on his partner's shoulder. "Eh?"

"I'm telling you, you will fucking _hate_ Draco Malfoy when you meet him," Ron spat, and Hermione froze at the sound of his name, nearly dropping her coffee. "Theo Nott, too, his weedy fucking sidekick, he's fucking _just as bad_ \- "

"What's so bad about him?" Harry asked, frowning. "Malfoy?"

 _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,_ she thought against her will, her mind flashing back to the M on his chest.

"He's a prick of epic proportions," Ron trumpeted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Arrogant, violent, vain - fucking ambitious, but in a weird way, inside their little incestuous _clubhouse._ " He made a face. "His dad's a real piece of work, too. Once put my dad in the hospital, fucking threatened one of my brothers - "

He broke off, looking furious at the memory. "He's bad news, Draco Malfoy," he muttered, swallowing. "Just like his father," he added miserably.

 _You're free of me, Doc,_ he whispered in her memory -

"Hermione," Harry said suddenly, staring at her, and she blinked. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah," she said breathlessly. "Yeah, fine, I'm just - " she shook her head, trying to shake the vision of Draco's face from her mind. "I'm fine," she finished unconvincingly.

Harry opened his mouth to press her, but she turned back to Ron. "Why are you keeping an eye on them?" she asked. "Did they do something?"

Ron shrugged. "Supposedly there's some kind of threat from some Knockturn druglord," he said, and Harry nodded his confirmation.

"Fenrir Greyback," he supplied. "According to Slughorn, he showed up making threats last week."

 _Last week,_ Hermione thought, the timeline fitting together. _Trust me, you don't want to know,_ she heard Draco say, and felt her heart pound.

"Yeah, him," Ron said indifferently. "Though _fuck Slughorn_ if he thinks I'm going to play bodyguard for _Tom fucking Riddle_ \- 'they're tax-paying citizens, too,' he says, like they're really putting _everything_ on the books or some shit - "

"Anyway," Harry interrupted loudly, "Ron's vitriol aside, we should probably get back to life saving. As should you," he said, tilting his head playfully, and she gave him a tentative smile.

 _Life saving,_ she repeated to herself, waving as they drove away. Funny that she'd done that right in this parking lot a week ago.

 _A week ago_ , she thought again, and frowned, the clinical pieces of her brain beginning to wag a finger in admonishment as her years of study lurched to the forefront of her mind. She counted backwards, thinking, that there was something she needed to do - something that she hadn't -

 _Fuck_ , she realized, and came to a sudden halt.

Those stitches were going to need to come out.

* * *

Draco's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and he picked it up, glancing at the screen.

 _ **Hey**_

Astoria. _Fuck no,_ he thought vigorously, and growled to himself as another message displayed itself on the screen.

 _ **You up?**_

 _Of course I'm up,_ he thought with irritation, _it's barely even late -_

 _ **Tired,**_ he typed, and then moved to set the phone down, but the response was instant.

 _ **You sure? :(**_

He sighed, annoyed, and set the phone down, about to walk away as it started buzzing against the counter.

He glanced at the name before picking up. "Fuck you."

"I know, right?" Theo laughed.

"What do you want?"

"Jesus, fuck, give me a break. I'm at the Manor. You'll never guess who was just here."

Draco sighed. "Who?"

"Fucking Weasley." A laugh. "Such a little shit."

"Gross," Draco muttered.

"Had that Potter dude with him. The new deputy."

"Huh." _Interesting._ "What's he like?"

"Kind of a weird dude. Super fucking earnest."

"Ha," Draco said. "Everyone is, compared to us."

"Nah, but really. Like, fucking, _really_ really."

Draco paused, thinking. "Is Slughorn right, then? About him being - "

" - pliable? Don't know, but he certainly didn't look _informed,_ if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Draco sighed emphatically. "I _always_ know what you mean."

"Don't fucking simplify me, Draco, it's fucking rude - "

Draco heard a car door slam outside his apartment and frowned.

"Draco, you fucking shitsnap, I'm _talking -_ "

"I gotta go," Draco said, walking to the window and hanging up on Theo's protests.

It was the same old Subaru that pretty doctor - Granger, she'd said her name was - had stitched him up in, and he held his breath, waiting to see if she would emerge; she did, of course, stepping out and slinging a bag over her shoulder before tucking her hands into her well worn jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid and she looked like she must have recently got off work; she seemed a little tired, he noted, though not nearly as exhausted as she'd been when he met her. She had a little bit of color in her cheeks from the crispness of the air and a smile tugged at his lips as she made her way to his door, watching her bite her lip in hesitation.

His mind was a hazy buzz of admiration, and then he abruptly remembered the inadvisability of their circumstances; _if you're_ lucky, he'd said, and he meant it, _you'll never see me again -_

 _Fuck me,_ he swore, a second problem arising as he waited for the inevitable attention from someone nearby, rifling frantically through his mind for a way he could pass off her visit without Riddle getting wind of it. Put simply, Tom wasn't much for outsiders. He wouldn't take kindly to anything that appeared suspicious, and he was a man who found most things suspicious.

Draco rushed to the door, opening it before she could knock.

"How did you find me?" he demanded, glancing around. "Get in," he added, pulling her inside quickly.

"Um," she began, stumbling through the doorway, "well, I see you're still alive."

"How did you find me?" he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. She seemed vaguely put out by his hostility, though he was disturbingly pleased to see that she didn't back down.

"Draco Malfoy isn't exactly a common name," she informed him, pursing her lips. "It wasn't that hard. And _shockingly_ ," she added, "the kidney transplant I did today was slightly more complicated than a Google search."

 _Kidney transplant,_ he thought, and almost laughed. _God, she's so fucking pure -_

"Why are you here?" he said gruffly, blatantly ignoring her comment and wondering if he should rush her out. _Someone would have noticed her car by now -_

"I have to remove your stitches," she said, teasing her shoulders back indignantly. She had a prim kind of stubbornness, a little taste of _don't fuck with me_ that he should have known right away was dangerous. "I didn't exactly get my hands on the high quality dissolving kind when I was MacGyvering you back to life in my car."

"Oh," he muttered, instinctively bringing his hand to his shoulder. MacGyvered or not, she'd done a solid enough job; it would scar, obviously, but not badly. "Fine."

"If you're busy, I can come back later," she offered, but he shook his head.

"No," he said sharply. "You shouldn't come back here. _Ever_ ," he added emphatically, hoping she would find that sufficient; the spirit of his last departure clearly hadn't sunken in.

"Okay," she sighed, with a hint of snotty displeasure. "Or I could just go," she added, giving him a taunting look. "If you'd rather I not be here."

He fought a frustrated groan; she was a little exasperating, and more than a little enticing, which was just as much a problem. "It's not _you_ ," he said quickly, "it's - "

He cut himself off. She waited.

"Nevermind," he determined slowly, eyeing her. She was watching him curiously, chewing her lip as she waited; he tried not to let his gaze linger too long on her mouth. "Just - do what you have to do, then."

"How _gracious_ of you," she quipped sarcastically, but she put her bag on the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for him. "Sit," she instructed. "Shirt off," she added, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Are you sure this isn't a social visit?" he asked her, smirking as he dutifully removed the thin white t-shirt he wore. Her eyes went instantly to his chest, and she promptly reddened.

"Purely medical," she determined, recovering quickly. "So sit here, and - is that a _knife_?" she asked, sounding vaguely horrified as she eyed the handle that protruded from his waistband.

"It is," he confirmed indifferently, removing it and setting it on the table as he took a seat. "Can't be too careful."

"But you're in your _house_ ," she squeaked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

 _Ah, culture shock,_ he thought, perversely thrilled. _Welcome to my world, Doc._

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's why it's a knife and not a Glock. Much more casual," he joked.

"Not a - " she trailed off, swallowing as she reached the word _Glock_. "Oh."

She stood still, suddenly uncertain. She looked small and lost, and for some reason, he almost smiled. _Am I making you nervous?_ he wanted to ask.

He hoped so.

"This is what you came for, right?" he prompted, gesturing to his shoulder. The thick black stitches were stark against the yellowed bruising of the skin.

"Right," she agreed, suddenly snapping out of her temporary stupor and pulling up a chair next to him, rifling for things in her bag and getting to work. She seemed subdued by the prospect of something she understood; he recognized the compulsion. It was the moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life. "How are you feeling?"

"Stressed," he replied. "With a touch of despondency. You?"

He watched her lips twitch into a small smile. "I meant the whole bullet wound thing," she clarified, her brown eyes briefly meeting his.

"Ah, that," he replied, trying not to shrug and disrupt her work as she unwillingly dragged her attention back to the stitches. "You do great work, Granger. I'm perfectly healed."

"Really?" she asked dubiously, glancing at him again. Her eyes, normally wide and earnest, were glimmering with delicate skepticism.

"No," he grumbled. "It fucking _hurts_ , Granger, what do you want from me?" he asked, frowning. "Can't you just let me be a man?"

He was gratified to see her smile. "Right," she said, nodding solemnly and ducking her head to hide a laugh. "Of course."

He watched her work, wondering if he wasn't secretly relieved to see her again. The first time had been tainted by the disaster of the day, of course; the whole week had been tainted by it, and the unknown threat posed by Fenrir. Not to mention the guns they still possessed; the targets on their backs.

 _You should run,_ he wanted to say, _you should go -_

But he had run once, and she was here again, and was he really supposed to be a gentleman _twice?_

 _This is a different day,_ he reminded himself, chasing his thoughts away as Granger's brown eyes met his again; she couldn't seem to help herself, and he found he wasn't opposed. Today, the pretty doctor was in his house, and he was already fucked by her presence, and her fingers were a little too inviting on his skin . . . not that it wouldn't be stupid, obviously. Completely idiotic.

But maybe - just _once_ -

"There," she said breathlessly, smoothing her hand over it; her touch was cool and captivating. "I can give you something for the scars, if you want - "

 _Fuck it._

He leaned forward, gripping the back of her head and pulling her lips to his, the kiss not rough enough to bruise but certainly firm enough for her to know he meant it. Enough to tell her what he wanted - _I want you_ \- and then he slipped his tongue along her bottom lip; a question. _Do you?_

She swayed toward him in a helpless way, like she was fighting it, but she kissed him back just as earnestly and then her hands were slipping down his stomach, resting tentatively on his hips; he wondered if she could feel the way he instinctively leaned in at her touch, the hairs rising on his arms as her fingers moved to linger on the waistband of his jeans. He pulled her head back, moving to scrape his teeth along her neck, feeling her shudder in response.

She pulled away, her eyes closed. "I really, really, really," she began slowly, " _honestly_ came to fix your stitches."

"But?" he prompted, his voice husky. _I want you._

She eyed him for a minute before speaking.

"I'm a surgical intern," she said, and he blinked, uncertain what direction she was taking. "I work terrible shifts and I barely have time for anything. _Anything_ ," she repeated adamantly, and he realized she was asking him for something.

 _Permission to be selfish_ , he thought in awe, _and_ _to not be judged for wanting_ ; and then, again - _she's_ _so fucking pure_.

"You want me to fuck you," he supplied roughly, and though she seemed momentarily uncomfortable with the vulgarity of the phrasing, she nodded.

He fought a smirk. _Fine by me._

He yanked her to him again and she instantly put her hands on his chest; he smiled as she sighed into his mouth, her hands traveling hungrily over his curves and angles to prove what he'd suspected all along - _she'd been looking._ He pulled her sweater over her head, sliding his fingers along the cups of her bra and she stood, shimmying hurriedly out of her jeans and carefully straddling him on the chair.

"Hey," he murmured against her lips, her breaths starting to come in pants, "take your time." He smoothed a hand against her skin, gently biting down on her lip as she shuddered. "Let me make it good, Doc."

She whimpered a little at that, and he almost laughed, but it would have been a waste of a breath and a waste of the woman he had in his lap, her skin petal-soft and cool, the smell of her something sweet and floral that made him yearn just a bit more - grip her just a bit tighter - because of how _wrong_ she was for him, and how fucking _bad_ he'd be for her -

She slid her hands around from his jaw to his neck and up to grip his hair, pulling his head back, and in his surprise at her aggression he looked up, meeting her eye; her braid had unraveled to loose a wild curl from behind her ear and he brushed it away, his fingers skating over her cheek as her eyes widened, her hand tightening around the back of his neck. He watched her swallow, watched her lids fall heavily, and resolved to do precisely what he said he would -

Make it _good._

He slid his hands up her spine, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside, running a thumb over the hardened bead of her nipple and then taking it in his mouth, enjoying the sound of her breathy moan. She was trying to hold back, he could tell; he watched the tension in her throat, saw her bite back an escaping mewl of pleasure and he, in turn, swallowed a hiss of urgency, lifting his hips to encourage her.

"Let go," he whispered, and then her lips parted, red where her teeth had been, as she ground against him, the shared need burning between them as he gripped her ass, bucking his hips with every aching thrust of hers.

She reached down, unbuttoning his jeans and fumbling with the zipper before taking his cock in her hand, swirling a thumb against the tip and then sliding her palm against his shaft, her arm pressing against her chest as she moved and drawing his eyes distractingly to the way her motions prompted the curve of her breast to swell towards him. He lowered his head to her skin, intent on leaving a mark, as he slipped a finger against her slit and she moaned, already slick and as desperate as he was.

He pushed her practical white cotton thong aside and she shifted, moving the arm that was between them to angle his cock against her and he slid inside her, swallowing a heady, breathless _fuck_ of satisfaction as he thrust up into her cunt - _god_ , her fucking _perfect cunt_ ; it felt sinful to even call it that, she was so fucking _good_ and _clean_ and goddamn _pure,_ not like anything he'd ever known, and _fuck -_

He cursed his laziness instantly, his desperate need to be inside her that had allowed him to forego the removal of her underwear, and growled his frustration at the obstruction of the garment. He reached for his knife - her eyes widened and she went rigid in his hands but he ignored her apprehension, he fucking _knew what he was doing_ \- and then slipped it under the fabric, the cool blade pressed between the silk of her skin and the flimsy layer of cotton before slicing through the material, tearing it away from her. She made an incoherent, strangled sound of disbelief mixed with something that mirrored his own hunger and he let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter, picking her up around the waist with his good arm and shoving the items gracelessly off the table to lay her back against it.

The look of alarm that had crossed her face melted and she was watching him now, her eyes wide and fixed on his chest, her gaze starved and appreciative, and he thought it again; _make it good._

He grabbed her legs, hitching them over his hips and sliding her forward, yanking her hips to the edge of the table so that his cock was _right there_ \- fuck, _right fucking there -_ and then he thrust into her, both of them gasping as he filled her again. He shifted his hand to the inside of her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft curve of her skin as he spread her legs apart, bringing his thumb to her clit as he drove into her.

She arched her back off the table, raising her hips to his and letting her head fall back, faint murmurs of _oh god_ and _Draco_ and _yes_ , and then _fuck,_ and _yes,_ and _yesyesyes_ and a gasp, and -

"Fuck, god, Draco - " Her head hit the table, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, wild and enraptured and exultant."I'm - I'm going to - "

"Fuck," he gritted out, feeling her muscles tense. "Come, Granger," he coaxed her brusquely, the intimacy of her name slipping out through his teeth, "come for me - "

As her face went blank with pleasure he knew for certain he was fucked. He closed his eyes as she called out his name, his breath knotted in his throat, and considered with vague amusement that the concept of _just once_ had been one of his finest delusions.

* * *

 **a/n:** Not a slow burn, lol. Dedicated, with enthusiasm, to Hufflove!


	5. Barely Skin Deep

**a/n:** _kicking things off with a healthy_ _ **rated M**_ _._

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Barely Skin Deep**

She woke up to his head between her legs - specifically, to the sensation of his mouth on her clit - and she attempted to bolt upright, but his arm shot out with an impossible quickness, his palm pressing against the flat of her stomach to shove her back against the pillow.

"Your alarm went off," he commented offhandedly, the words aimed carelessly into the curve her thigh. "Are you aware it's three in the morning?"

"Damn," she muttered, fighting a whimper as he pushed her knees further apart, letting his tongue drag against her slit. "I have to - "

"Nope," he interrupted, giving her another curt shove as she tried to sit up. "If you're going to wake me up at three, you'll have to pay the price."

"The price being what, exactly?" she asked, squirming a little as he used his fingers to spread her wider, yanking her hips down with an effortless, casual brusqueness to pull her closer, burying his face against her. "Are you - " she gasped, " _holy shit -_ "

He hummed something she had to assume was amusement against her clit and she reached down, tightening her fingers in his hair. "I - don't have a lot of time," she managed, closing her eyes, "I have to - _ah,_ god, _what are you -_ "

He grazed his teeth against her clit before hitching his shoulders under her legs, his hand sliding from her stomach to press against her hips as he offered her something she estimated to be a shrug; some kind of brisk indication of nonchalance, an almost arrogant assertion of _believe me,_ _I_ _don't care._

"I have to" - she stopped, letting out a sound she'd never made before; something like a choked out wail as he dug his tongue in deeper, devouring her, as her _brain_ , her clinical surgeon's brain, slowly shut down, devolved to a loop of _yes_ and _more_ and _how how how -_ fucking _how_ is this so _fucking good_ \- "I have to go to work - and I, _oh_ \- "

She came with an almost alarming force, a rush of something so achingly potent that it struck her first as pain, a moan erupting from her lips as the tension he'd built inside her shattered, bursting free in a wave of _holy shit, holy shit, holy shit -_

"Listen," he murmured, her legs still draped over his shoulders as he made his way up her torso, "it's fucking early, Granger. I don't make a habit of being awake unless I'm getting something out of it."

 _Don't do it,_ her mind said primly, but she could scarcely bring herself to focus.

"Well," she breathed out, giving in, "I have to get home to shower, so if it's quick - "

"I don't do quick," he shot back, and she registered insult in his tone as he slid against her, bending her nearly in half to take her beaded nipple in his mouth and give it what she suspected was a semi-punishing bite, her breath escaping through her teeth in a hiss of unexpected enjoyment. "You'll get to work on time."

"I guess," she began, and he sat up, placing her ankles delicately on his shoulders as he angled the tip of his cock against her, a smirk slipping over his lips as he watched her gaze travel across the tattooed expanse of his chest and abs. She looked again at the crest - _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper -_ and then watched as the scripted letters on his knuckles traveled back to her clit.

"You guess?" he prompted, the smirk only fading as he slid inside her, a flicker of satisfaction on his face that manifested in the tightening of his jaw, the motion of his throat as he swallowed. "You _guess_ \- "

"I guess I'll let you finish," she exhaled, lifting her hips, and his grey eyes flashed at that, as he knocked her legs from his shoulders and slipped his arm underneath her to pull her chest against his.

"You'll _let_ me?" he repeated, his breath coming in pants now as he kissed her neck, easing her up and down his shaft. "Granger, please - "

He shifted her in his lap, moving her legs around behind him as she leaned back, watching his eyes skate hungrily down her neck, over her breasts, past her bare torso to the view of him thrusting into her, both of them caught on the fascination of watching his cock bury itself inside her.

She caught his eye and he leaned forward, grabbing her hand roughly and placing it on her clit. "Touch yourself," he suggested, with a glimmer in his eye like he was testing her. "Tell me when you're about to come."

She fought a sputtered laugh, pulling her hand away. "You want me to - "

She broke off and he raised an eyebrow, waiting; she felt her cheeks flush. "I _can't_ \- "

"Granger," he cut in, his gaze hovering over her again. "Come on, Doc, it's not complicated. And anyway," he added, a hint of playfulness to his tone, "aren't you the one who needs to _let me finish_ before you go to work?"

She grimaced at that, and he let out a breathy laugh, giving her a particularly compelling thrust; she bit her lip but hesitantly moved her hand, running it first over her breasts and then sliding it down from her navel.

It gave her an odd moment of gratification to watch his breath catch, the mischief gone from his eyes and a look of utter fucking starvation coming over him as she placed a finger on either side of her clit, letting out a muted whimper as she began to rub against it. If she were alone, she would have closed her eyes, let her head fall back, placed herself somewhere _else_ , somewhere solidly in her imagination - but instead, bold in her curiosity, she locked eyes with Draco, watching something flash in his gaze as he stared at her, transfixed.

"Tell me," he said again, clearing his throat as he licked the dryness from his lips, "tell me when you're - "

"Close," she murmured, feeling the familiar itching need, "I'm close - "

He leaned forward with a growl, a breathless hitch of _finally,_ maneuvering her with an alarmingly swift burst of power to throw her back against the pillows of his bed, positioning himself above her and hiking her leg over his hip to continue the friction against her. He grabbed her wrists, raising her hands over her head and bracing himself against them as he drove into her, hard and fast and focused; and she - oh, _Christ_ , and _she -_

"Draco," she gasped, shutting her eyes as she rode out the convulsions; another thrust, and _he_ -

"Granger," he gritted out breathlessly, " _Hermione -_ "

He fell against her and she ran her fingers down his spine, waiting to catch her breath.

It took a moment for her busy mind to settle back in, but when it did - _have to shower, must get dressed, must have breakfast,_ and loudly, with a violent clang, _I am in a stranger's house_ \- it was deafening; she felt herself stiffen and he shifted, propping himself on his elbows to look at her.

"I suppose you should go to work, then," he suggested, looking oddly like the thought had pained him. "Since you're so eager to get there," he added, smirking.

She tried to nod, tried to stay relaxed and somehow confident, but then -

"I don't normally do things like this," she blurted out hurriedly, as she suddenly remembered the circumstances of what had happened between them. "I mean," she clarified, slightly horrified with herself, "I certainly don't make it a habit to, um," she bit her lip, " _stalk_ my patients - "

"You didn't," he assured her, resting his chin against her chest. "And I can tell," he added, tracing vacant designs against her skin with his fingers. "That this isn't normal for you, I mean. The doctor thing gives it away," he explained, meeting her eye.

She, uncomfortable with the brashness of his gaze, focused her attention elsewhere, identifying the letters tattooed on his fingers.

"What does it spell on your hands?" she asked, catching one of them.

"The City," he replied. "It's a, um - personal philosophy."

"Philosophy?" she echoed.

"Well, I guess I can't really claim credit," he said, watching her play with his fingers. "It's a quote - 'The City is what it is because our citizens are what they are,'" he supplied.

She frowned. "Is that Plato?"

"Yes," he said, looking impressed, as though their roles were somehow reversed; as though _she_ were not the highly educated surgeon, and _he_ not the would-be gang member with a hole blown through his shoulder. "Most people don't recognize it," he said. "Which is fine, as it doesn't really fit with my whole . . . _persona._ "

"Which is?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I appreciate you not leaping to judge, Granger," he said drily, "but I suspect you can tell by looking."

 _Fair enough,_ she thought, and itched to change the subject, avoiding the implications of his answer.

"What do you do?" she asked curiously. "Something in government, then?"

He laughed at that, a scoffing, jarringly patrician laugh. "Me?" he said, shaking his head. "Granger, you might be a damn brilliant doctor, but you could really use a lesson on who exactly counts as _government_ in this town."

"So what's the significance of the City, then?" she asked. "If you're not some kind of social activist - "

"I never said I wasn't _that,_ " he cut in. "That's a pretty significant distinction from being involved in government to simply being _active in society,_ don't you think?"

 _Vigilante justice, that kind of thing,_ she heard Harry say.

"It's just an oddly political statement," she said, treading carefully. " _Surprisingly_ political."

"Well, I already told you, didn't I?" he reminded her, shrugging. "It doesn't fit with my persona."

"True," she permitted. "I guess I don't normally think of great sex and an allegiance to Ancient Greco-Roman philosophy as sharing the same conduit," she conceded, accommodating a telling smile.

"Well, there's no need to place limits on your imagination, Doc," he said, a laughing glint in his eye as he gestured to himself. "I'm plenty real."

She felt her smile fall; _not real enough,_ she thought, feeling an unexpected surge of disappointment.

"I guess I should go," she murmured after a moment, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "And I guess it's also not part of your persona to expect that I might see you again?"

To her surprise, she caught the flash of insult in his expression again. "You think I wouldn't want to do this again?" he asked, somewhat indignantly. "I would," he informed her, pulling himself up matter-of-factly. "Though you can't ever come back here," he qualified.

"Why not?" she asked, sitting up as he bent to pick up the clothes that had been discarded on the floor, pausing his progress to step into a pair of black boxer-briefs. "Are you - "

She paused to look around, searching for faces on the walls, a mark on his finger; signs of a woman in his life. "Are you married or something?"

He straightened abruptly, fixing her with a stern look of disapproval. "Am I _married_?" he echoed, huffing his disbelief. "Don't be fucking ridiculous, Granger. It's nothing like that," he called over his shoulder, walking into the living room and then returning with a handful of her clothes.

"What's it like, then?" she asked, taking the pile of garments as he handed them to her. "You have to admit, it's sort of hard to understand why you'd want to see me again and then still be so adamant that it can't be _here_."

"Well, it shouldn't be _that_ hard to understand the first part, should it?" he asked vacantly, pausing to glance at her as he threw a shirt over his head. "The wanting to see you again bit, I mean." He let his gaze flick appreciatively over her, and she felt an odd tingling of pride at his open admiration. "As for the rest of it - " he shrugged. "It's just better if you don't ask questions."

"Comforting," she determined flatly, and he glanced at her, chuckling.

"Listen, don't make the mistake of thinking I'm something that makes sense for you," he warned. "If you've got a late night and you're - I don't know, looking for someone who can operate his cock properly, I won't say no." He walked towards her, leaning over to bite lightly on her shoulder. "You'd better go," he said, gesturing to the ripped thong that he'd draped across her loosely folded jeans. "Might want to grab a new pair before work," he tossed out innocently, giving her a wink and then disappearing in the direction of his kitchen.

She sighed, slipping into her jeans and pulling her sweater on quickly before following him; as she arrived at the kitchen table, he tossed her an apple.

"Apple a day," he offered, and she rolled her eyes.

"Cute," she informed him, and he shrugged, walking over to turn on his coffeemaker.

"That's not a word people normally use to describe me," he called over his shoulder, "but I'll let it go."

"I bet they don't," she murmured to herself, watching him from where she stood as she replaced her things in her bag. "You know," she said, louder, "you might be ideal if you weren't so enigmatic," she decided, glancing up at him.

"Or, maybe if I weren't enigmatic, I wouldn't be ideal," he countered, and she shrugged, a tacit _touché_. "Face it, Granger," he said flatly, "if you're even _half_ the adventurer you say you are, then you wouldn't fucking want me if I were easy."

"Fair," she said, and she meant it. "Wish I could say the same about me," she murmured. "Unfortunately," she sighed, throwing her bag over her shoulder, "I think I was incredibly easy."

"Hey," he said quickly, closing the distance between them and reaching for her arm. "I'm never going to hold it against you for knowing what you want." He stepped in close, blocking her momentarily as she turned to leave. "It's hot, Doc," he informed her bluntly, smoothing her hair behind her ears. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Yeah, well," she mumbled, trying not to go soft as he slid his hands to her hips, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "If we're gauging who's a bigger mystery - "

"You, I'd bet," he interrupted, tugging her hair back with one hand to brush his lips against hers. "My secrets are barely skin deep."

She thought of the mark on his wrist, the skull and the snake; _Death Eaters,_ she thought, picturing the script and its secrets.

"I'd be willing to guess there's a lot more to you than there is to me," he whispered, though she very much doubted that were true. "But," he said, louder, giving her a swift kiss on the lips and then a light slap on her rear, "I won't be finding out, as I'd only fuck up your life - I guarantee it."

"Ringing endorsement," she said wryly, walking to the door before turning to give him one last look. "So," she opened tentatively, "next time I need - "

"The next time you need an orgasm, let me know," he agreed, leaning back against his kitchen table. "But don't come back here, Granger," he warned, and she tried not to watch as he slipped his knife back into his waistband. "I mean it."

"I won't," she promised, squaring her shoulders. "Bye, Draco."

"See you, Doc," he said back, a twitch in his step like he might have stopped her; but then he turned around, heading into his kitchen, and she let his front door fall shut behind her, reasonably convinced that she'd meant it when she'd said goodbye.

* * *

"So," Theo said, swinging his leg over his bike, "are you going to tell me what the fuck you were doing last night?"

"Nope," Draco said flatly, removing his helmet. "And surprisingly, I think you'll live."

"Lucius asked me where you were, you know," Theo said casually. "And while you _know_ how well your father and I get on - "

"Fucking hell, it was one night," Draco growled, rolling his eyes. "I was tired."

"You weren't entertaining visitors, then?" Theo asked innocently, and at that, Draco paused.

"Okay," he relented, crossing his arms over his chest. "What is it?"

Theo, in a rare moment of calculation, paused before answering. "You know Tom's watching all of us," he said carefully. "You're going to have to be more careful."

"Look, Tom doesn't get to tell me where to put my dick, okay?" Draco said irritably, trying to shove the pretty doctor's wide brown eyes out of the forefront of his mind. "Unless I'm supposed to get my pussy pre-approved now - "

"You know," Theo interrupted, in a way that suggested he hadn't really been listening, "I love you, brother, but sometimes I think you overplay your hand."

The statement was so jarringly tangential that Draco stopped mid-stride.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded, turning to face him. "What, you don't believe me?"

"No, I definitely believe you," Theo ruled with a smirk. "And you can put all _this_ on" - he gestured to Draco's face of indignation, the stubborn thrust of his shoulders - "and _maybe_ you can fool Tom, but you can't fucking pretend I don't know you." He shook his head. "I'm just saying, Draco, that you don't get to deviate a step and then fucking wonder why people ask questions."

Even from Theo, it was an unsettling point.

"Tom's got no issue with me," Draco said slowly, finding his footing in the statement. "He's got no reason to have me watched."

"He has _everyone_ watched," Theo retorted, swatting at the statement like an irritating fly. "He doesn't need a fucking reason, and you can fucking - I don't know, try to alpha dog _me_ all you want, Draco, but that shit's not going to work on Tom - "

"You're full of shit," Draco grumbled. "He trusts me. He _likes_ me," he added, thinking of Tom's nod of approval when he'd called after Slughorn, "and my dad, and I don't think he's going to get worked up about what I do on my own time."

Theo let out a barking laugh. "Wake up, Draco," he said, barely concealing his condescension. "He likes you because you follow orders. It's not trust, it's definitely not fucking _affection,_ or goddamn _loyalty -_ "

"Look, it's not going to happen again, okay?" Draco cut in, bristling at the words and then feeling void by their implication. "It was a one time thing."

"You get what I'm saying though, don't you?" Theo insisted, reaching out to grip Draco's shoulder. "I'm on your side here, man, and it's fucking bullshit that he had Rowle check up on you, but you can't just fuck up for the sake of fucking up and then act like Riddle's going to forgive it."

Draco swallowed, trying not to focus on the ramifications of what Theo had just said.

"He had Rowle check on me?" he asked instead. "What'd Rowle say?"

"Said there was a car outside your apartment and it didn't belong to your neighbors," Theo said, shrugging. "And Tom's been paranoid as fuck since Greyback and his crew started making threats."

"Fenrir surfaced?" Draco asked, startled. "Was that last night too?"

"Yeah - _fuck_ yeah, it's why Weasley and Potter were at the Manor," Theo supplied. "Which is what I was trying to tell you, you know, when you rudely rejected me for" - he waved a hand carelessly - "whatever outdoorsy pussy you were getting yourself into."

"Outdoorsy?" Draco repeated, and Theo shrugged.

"Subaru, man, whatever," he said. "You trying to tell me that's Astoria's?"

"Point taken," Draco muttered, and dragged his attention back to the subject. "So what happened with Potter?"

"Knows Greyback from Knockturn," Theo supplied. "Or, knows _of_ him, anyway. Told us someone came into the station claiming some thug that sounded a lot like Scabior had shown up to threaten someone in their family, I guess. Wanted to talk to us about it."

"Who was it?" Draco asked. "Someone from the club?"

"Sort of," Theo said, shrugging. "Remember Goyle's old lady, before they split and she got clean? Bones, or whatever her name was?"

Draco sniffed his disapproval, frowning. "Yeah," he said. "Susan. She got close with Astoria for a bit."

"Yeah, well, apparently she's seeing some townie now," Theo explained. "McLaggen, a year above us. He's a realtor."

"Yeah, I've seen his signs up," Draco said, nodding. "What's that got to do with the Death Eaters?"

"Well, turns out Susan's aunt is a county judge," Theo said. "Sort of some convoluted shit, but she got some kind of threat, I guess, something about a case she's got coming up - Potter and Weasley didn't disclose much," he offered quickly, "but the gist of it is somehow Scabior's implicated, and since they'd heard we had some problems with his boss, they came to chat about it."

"Seems far fetched," Draco commented. "Are we sure Slughorn's not wrong, and it wasn't just Diagon PD poking around without a warrant? That move's got Weasley written all over it," he muttered.

"They weren't there long," Theo said. "And _obviously,_ since we don't know shit about Greyback or his goons, we weren't much help," he said, enunciating deliberately.

"Yeah," Draco scoffed in agreement, instinctively bringing a hand up to grip his shoulder. "Definitely never met 'em."

Theo chuckled, pulling the door open to the shop, and they paused as the entered, catching sight of a familiar flash of red hair in uniform.

"Weasley," Draco recognized grimly, as the other man turned. "I know I missed the joy of your presence yesterday, but I'd hardly feel the absence worth rectifying now."

"Malfoy," Weasley returned, equally sourly, and stepped forward to reveal a glimpse his partner, a dark-haired officer with an unkempt look to him. The slightly more wiry officer's brows were furrowed heavily over his glasses as he eyed something in front of him, unperturbed by their entrance. "Believe me," Weasley said tightly, "it's no great thrill to be back."

"Can't get enough, though, can you," Theo suggested spiritedly, just as Darian appeared through the garage entrance.

"Boys," Darian said, nodding to them and then gesturing to the two Diagon cops. "Officers, have you spoken to these two yet?"

"Ah, no," the dark-haired deputy said, noticing them and stepping forward. "I don't think we've met. I'm Officer Potter."

"Pleasure," Draco said airily. "Draco Malfoy."

"Ah," Potter said, and from his sidelong glance at Weasley's look of moody disinterest, Draco guessed Weasley had filled his partner in on their longstanding mutual animosity. "Well," Potter said, straightening, "I don't mean to bother you too long - it seems there was a problem with your alarm system, and the department was alerted."

"And they sent the deputy chief for _that_?" Draco asked curiously, arching a single brow. "For an alarm disfunction?"

"That's what I said," Weasley muttered.

"Well," Potter said, covertly elbowing his partner, "Slughorn asked me to stop by, so I figured it was worth looking into. Mr Mulciber, here," he gestured over his shoulder, "says you haven't been having any problems with the system, so figured I'd double check."

"Thorough," Draco mused. "Nice to see our tax dollars being put to use so rewardingly."

Potter blinked, unsure how to respond. "Just doing our jobs," he said.

 _A safe answer,_ Draco ruled, and shrugged.

"I assume that's all, then?" Theo prompted. "All done in here, Weasel?"

Weasley bristled at the nickname, but managed to hold his tongue.

"Actually," Potter interrupted, pushing his glasses up his nose, "no, I don't think so."

"What?" Weasley snapped, frowning at him. "What more could we possibly - "

"Listen, it's not a secret that you've got some kind of reason to be worried about Greyback," Potter supplied, eyeing Draco closely. "Whatever that reason is."

"That isn't my business," Draco said ambiguously, and Potter shrugged.

"Your boss's, then," he agreed, though Draco could tell it was a concession. "In any case, I wouldn't write this one off, knowing him. If you ask me, I'd guess Greyback was testing your security."

"Greyback?" Draco asked, stunned. "You think a Knockturn druglord is fucking with our auto repair shop?"

"Well, him, or one of his associates," Potter offered. "Scabior or Smith, probably, but under his orders. There's clearly nothing here," he explained, gesturing around, "and nothing missing or out of place, and alarms don't just go off - "

"True," Theo murmured, looking impressed in spite of himself by Potter's assertion as the prospect of sabotage sank in.

" - and since you've never had problems before, it's a little too conveniently timed," Potter concluded. "If Greyback's got it in for your - _business_ ," he said, looking as though he might have preferred to use another word, "then I'd tighten up security. The good news is whatever he was looking for, response time or whatever, you're probably in good shape."

That, for some reason, struck Draco as fully comical; there was a foreignness to Potter, a feeling of _not quite_ belonging, and it occurred to Draco to lean into that unfamiliarity.

"What, you managed to get here despite all the Diagon traffic?" Draco ventured, unable to help a slight mocking hint to his tone.

Potter paused, considering a response, before letting his mouth slip into a placid smile. "Yeah, we managed it," he offered simply, before turning decisively back to Darian. "So," he said, "in any case, I've got you as the shop contact on here, Mr Mulciber, and while I can't really offer you anything with any notable degree of certainty - "

"It's fine," Theo said, leaning back against the counter, "we _love_ ambiguous threats."

" - I'd just consider making some changes to your security system," Potter finished. "You know, try not to be too predictable, try not to leave anyone who might be particularly vulnerable here alone, that sort of thing." He turned, gesturing to Weasley. "Got everything, Ron?"

"Yeah," Weasley said gruffly, and moved to follow his partner out the door, pausing to clip his shoulder against Draco's.

"Watch it," Draco muttered coolly, and Weasley met his eye, flashing him a loathing glare.

"Whatever your problem is with Greyback," Weasley said quietly, so that only Draco could hear, "and whatever your dad and Riddle have gotten into, take care of it. Keep it out of Diagon."

"Sweet of you to worry, Weasley, but we've got our house in order," Draco murmured back, letting an elbow collide sharply with the redheaded officer's ribs. "Try to make it a couple days without coming back to see us, would you?" he added, calling over his shoulder.

Weasley's mouth tightened into a grimace.

"Ron," Potter called from the doorway, waiting. "Let's go."

"Yeah," Weasley said again, his hand clenching into a fist. "Yeah, I'll keep my distance, Malfoy."

The two officers turned, walking out of the shop in silence, and Darian sighed, pursing his lips in disapproval as he glanced between Draco and Theo.

"You two fuckers," he muttered, glaring at them before walking back into the garage. "You'll never get over your idiotic blood feuds," he called over his shoulder, still shaking his head.

When Darian had gone, Theo leaned over the desk, rifling through paperwork for the day's repairs.

"What do you think Weasley hates more," he mused, pausing to glance at Draco, "that you're Lucius's son, or that you took his sister's virginity?"

"Ha," Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I really ran off with that one," he muttered. "Not like she threw it at me _and_ anyone else she could find - "

"I was right about Potter, though, wasn't I?" Theo interrupted, remembering. "Kind of a weird dude, right?"

"What was it you called him?" Draco asked. "Earnest? Because you're right - he's _really_ fucking earnest."

" _So_ fucking earnest!" Theo said, slamming a hand down decisively. "Like, fucking, _wildly_ by the book, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Draco said, and then frowned. "I don't know what that says about Slughorn, then," he said uneasily. "I don't think Potter's even _close_ to as pliable as he seems to think."

"Well, there's definitely no way Potter's going to play dirty on this one, _especially_ not with Weasley for a partner," Theo said. "Whatever Slughorn promised Tom for the future, we honestly might be fucked."

"Well, what else is new," Draco determined at that, covering a wide yawn. "Fuck," he sighed. "I'm tired."

"Up late?" Theo asked, grinning, and Draco shook his head.

"Up early," he corrected. " _Too_ fucking early."

"Was it worth it?" Theo asked, rummaging absentmindedly through the paperwork on the desk to find an invoice.

"Yeah," Draco said, the memory of her burning through his mind. "Yeah. It was really fucking worth it," he mumbled to himself, still feeling the pressure of her hands on his chest.

Too bad he'd probably never see her again.

* * *

 **a/n:** For Holly Sparks, lucky number 200! Thank you for your very amazingly thorough review. And thanks to everyone for reading - you guys make this AU so fun.


	6. Of All the Gin Joints

**Chapter 6: Of All the Gin Joints**

"I am _also_ capable of driving myself, you know," Hermione sighed, climbing carefully into the front seat of Dean's car. "You don't have to show up to kidnap me every time you two want to have a drink."

"Ooh, _good_ , you actually dressed up," Padma crooned from the backseat, leaning forward to give Hermione a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "And yes, actually, we _do_ have to kidnap you - otherwise who knows where you'd be." She sniffed her disapproval. "Suturing bananas, fluffing pillows, I don't know - pretending to not be dating Harry, I guess - "

"I'm not pretending!" Hermione insisted, pulling her skirt down - god, why, _why_ \- and shifting in her seat as she pulled her stilettoed feet in to shut the door. "We're _just friends -_ "

"We know," Dean said, flashing her a smile. "Or at least, Seamus and I do, anyway." He gestured to Padma. " _This one_ 's having a harder time maintaining a handle on her delusions."

"Listen," Padma opened grandly, "I just think I'd have a lot easier time shamelessly trying to sleep with his partner if you were doing the same," she concluded, throwing herself back against her seat with a shrug.

"Well, she's definitely sleeping with someone," Dean said with a smirk, putting his car in reverse. "Aren't you?"

Hermione stiffened. "No," she protested stubbornly, feeling her cheeks flush - though it wasn't a _lie,_ exactly. It had been a week since she'd seen Draco, after all.

A fact that she was painfully aware of.

"Oh _please_ ," Padma drawled, scoffing. "I don't know why you _insist_ on deluding us - we're sort of brilliant, you know - "

"Yes," Dean agreed. " _Very_ brilliant. And we definitely took stock of the infamously punctual Hermione Granger sprinting through the halls last week, hair still damp - "

"So I overslept _one time_ ," Hermione groaned, cutting him off. "What are you two, my parents?"

"I don't know, Dad," Padma mused, reaching up to smack Dean's shoulder affectionately. "Think she's lying to us?"

"I think she _is_ , Mom," Dean agreed, turning to wrinkle his nose playfully at Hermione. "Is she grounded, do you think? Should we send her to her room?"

"Not funny," Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, Dad, I think it's better for both of us if we get her completely sloshed instead," Padma determined with a nod. "I mean, really - why should _we_ have to suffer for her terrible misbehaviors?"

"I hate you both," Hermione informed them, and Dean and Padma locked eyes in the rearview mirror, laughing.

"Teenagers," Dean sighed, shrugging. "What can you do?"

"They always hate their parents," Padma lamented, reaching up to tug on one of Hermione's loose curls. "And after all we've done for you - "

"Yes," Dean continued dramatically, "And how _hard_ we work - "

"Okay, I get it, you're hilarious," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Maybe she should just let them think she was dating Harry, she thought, looking out the window as they drove; it would certainly make things easier, or would at least ensure they'd _leave her alone_. She'd certainly seen plenty of him over the last few weeks, and she was irrepressibly fond of him - he was, after all, probably the only real friend she had aside from Dean and Padma, who both had their own lives outside of the hospital. Maybe she should just _actually_ date him.

Of course, that would be to first assume she would eventually be able to tear her thoughts away from -

"We're here," Dean announced, putting the car in park and then flipping the front seat forward, gallantly offering Padma a hand as she disembarked. Padma, who had talked into Hermione into dressing up - "It's our day off tomorrow," she'd whined, "can't we have a real night out in this disgusting garbage town?" "I think you mean _charming_ garbage town," Dean had corrected - had certainly not spared herself any ornamentation, and was wearing a tight blue dress that made Hermione feel like a silly, trend-less retrospective. She glanced down at her own trusty black number from college and felt an inward shrug.

 _Oh well._ At least it still fit. And it wasn't like it was worth getting her hopes up, in any case. It _certainly_ wasn't like there was anyone in particular she wanted; and anyway, even if there were, it was one thing to show up at his house when she had a _reason_ , and another thing entirely to be the one to reach out and -

"You coming?" Dean called, and Hermione shook herself of the thought, nodding quickly and propelling herself forward after the other two.

"Hey, the surgeons are here," Seamus noted cheerfully, looking up as they entered. It was somewhat early still and Rosmerta's was mostly empty, making Hermione feel particularly out of place as her narrow heels dug into the old wooden floor. From the bar, a handful of other heads turned; she caught Harry's messy black hair and felt a rush of relief.

"Doctors _and_ cops, huh? Now the real deviance can begin," Harry declared, a smile floating over his lips as he stood up to greet her.

"Hi," she murmured, accepting his hug while behind him, Ron's eyes widened at Padma and Dean leaned over the bar, toying affectionately with Seamus' collar. "I'm glad you could come out tonight."

"Same," Harry agreed, passing a hand through his hair. "It's a lot less pressure having you here, you know. Gives me something to do," he added, gesturing behind him to where Padma was leaning back against the bar, batting her lashes at Ron while he ordered her a drink. "Which I suspected I was going to need."

"How did I know she was going to ditch me?" Hermione remarked faintly, and Harry laughed, handing her his drink.

"Here, take this," he advised. "And in any case, you still have me," he said. "And Dean, I think - at least until Seamus finishes his shift."

Hermione took a sip from Harry's glass; Jack and coke, she ruled, and determined she wasn't overly disappointed. "You're plenty," she determined firmly. "Plus, I'm starting to think having a night off from good behavior wouldn't be a bad thing," she added, watching the others as they settled in at the bar. "I mean, if you can't beat 'em - " She shrugged.

"I think you're entitled," Harry agreed quickly, flashing her a smile. "How was work?"

"Pretty standard," Hermione said impassively. "Watched Padma scrub in today - which is, I think, why she's feeling so - "

"Victorious?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as Padma's hand made its way suggestively to Ron's chest.

"Yep," Hermione said, chewing on the straw of her - _his,_ she reminded herself, _whoops_ \- drink. "Oh, sorry," she laughed apologetically, realizing. "Let me get you something - "

"You're good," Seamus called, sliding a glass down the bar. "I got you."

"Such good service," Hermione remarked playfully, "but I've already commandeered - "

"No, drink them both," Harry instructed, grinning. "I'll get another." He gestured to Seamus, who nodded and winked, prepping another glass.

Hermione followed Harry as he made his way closer to the bar, leaning against it while they waited. "So?" she asked, finishing Harry's drink and moving onto her own. "How was _your_ day at work?"

"Not bad," Harry replied, shrugging. "Though Ron's been a little - "

"Unbearable?" Hermione guessed, thinking of his undeniable irritation the last few times she'd seen him.

"I mean, it's _bearable_ , but it's certainly not ideal," Harry qualified, grimacing. "At this point, though, I can't say I blame him. Slughorn's not exactly - "

He hesitated, and Hermione laughed. "Yes?" she prompted. "Not exactly _what_?"

He chuckled, and then sighed. "Let's just say I've been spending a lot of time at The Manor," he explained, "which is not exactly Ron's favorite place."

"The Manor," Hermione repeated, her heart skipping quietly. "The Death Eater clubhouse?"

"Yeah," he said, pausing. Seamus passed Harry his drink and he raised it to his lips, taking a sip. "They're having some problems with someone from Knockturn." He stopped, letting the drink settle on his tongue for a minute before swallowing. "A famously violent drug dealer," he explained, "which is not ideal under any circumstances."

"Huh," Hermione remarked absently, trying not to look as apprehensive as she felt as she recalled him bringing it up before. "And here I thought you said the Death Eaters weren't a gang."

"To be totally honest, I don't really know what to make of them yet," Harry commented warily. "They seem to be in a sort of . . . state of transition, I guess you could say." He took another sip and she mirrored him, fighting her curiosity as the liquid burned down her throat. "Did you say you knew one of them?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"No, not really," she said quickly. "I, um - saw one. In the hospital. The tattoo," she explained, gesturing to her wrist. "I was curious."

"Yeah, they're an odd bunch," Harry agreed, tilting his head. "It's funny, they pass themselves off as mechanics - "

"You mentioned that," Hermione commented with amusement, finding it difficult to imagine Draco covered in grease.

"Yeah," Harry said. "And for some of them, that makes a lot of sense. But for others - " he shook his head. "Some of them seem a little _too_ clever, you know?"

"What are you saying?" Hermione asked, laughing. "Too smart for blue collar work? I mean, _I_ couldn't fix a car," she informed him, shrugging. "I'd have an easier time with an aorta, I think, than anything with an engine."

"No, no, I'm not saying that," Harry amended quickly. "It's just that Tom is - " he paused again, almost flinching, and Hermione felt a brief, helpless shudder of concern. "I just have some doubts about what's really going on over there. It's not like Greyback is suddenly coming after them for no reason," he clarified slowly. "They've always had more money than really makes sense, for one thing, and a couple of them are just - "

He stopped again, frowning, and she patted his shoulder. "It's fine," she assured him, despite desperately wanting to continue the conversation, if only to unlock another piece of Draco Malfoy. "We shouldn't be talking about work anyway."

"Yeah," he agreed, straightening. "I mean, we could be here all night if we decided we wanted to sift through the mystery that is the Death Eaters."

"That enigmatic, huh?" she asked, and immediately regretted it.

 _You might be ideal if you weren't so enigmatic -_

She tried to shove it aside -

 _Or, maybe if I weren't enigmatic, I wouldn't be ideal -_

\- and failed.

"In any event, Slughorn's obsessed with them," Harry said, his voice cutting through her thoughts as she looked up, watching him shake his head. "Which is making Ron furious, for one thing, and making me worry that he might be - "

"You're not talking about _work_ , are you?" Ron interrupted sharply, shoving himself between them as he launched himself over the bar, reaching for Seamus. "Sea, come on - "

"Christ, Weasley, pace yourself," Dean commented, materializing to give Ron a light shove aside. "Don't tell me you're _still_ a lightweight - "

"I'll tell you who's a lightweight," Padma declared loudly, pursuing her lips. "Me," she offered, shrugging as Ron turned around, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer. "Spoiler alert, it's me."

"Oi, plot twist," Ron said loudly, giving her a sloppy, slavish grin. "Don't spoil the ending."

"Oh, I'll tell you the ending," Padma said with a smirk, her voice echoing inside her glass as she finished off the last of her drink. "It ends with me taking off your - "

" _No_ ," Dean shouted. "No, please no - _babe_ ," he called to Seamus, "shots, _please_." He turned, making a face at Padma. "Granger and I'll need to be at least twice as drunk in the next five minutes if we're going to have to sit here and observe this utter _shitshow_ \- "

"Why am I always implicated in your schemes?" Hermione demanded, but then Dean was laughing, shoving a glass into her hand; upon receiving a resigned shrug from Harry, she sighed, defeated.

"Bottoms up?" Harry suggested brightly, clinking his shot glass against hers.

 _Might as well,_ she thought, looking around to watch Dean wipe the excess liquid from his lips, shuddering as it went down, while Ron and Padma downed theirs with a clumsy giddiness.

"Guess so," Hermione muttered with a sigh, throwing back the whiskey and letting the ill-advised warmth of it float straight to her head as Harry flashed her an indulgent smile.

* * *

"Well," Theo said loudly, " _this_ is fucking stupid."

"You can be the voice of reason all you want," Draco remarked listlessly. "But that still doesn't change the fact that we're _here_ , so you might as well fucking consent to be ruled by the ongoing stupidity."

"I can't believe he found another buyer," Theo grumbled, ignoring him. "Exactly how many people are looking for fucking guns, anyway?"

"Enough," Draco said, crossing his arms. "Let's just get this over with, okay?" At Theo's shrug, he sighed. "And do me a favor, would you?" he added tightly. "Try not to look so fucking guilty this time,"

"While I would _love_ to take credit for getting you shot, Draco, I really don't think that was my bad," Theo muttered. "Does this guy at least know - "

"He's there," Draco said, jutting his chin out and smacking Theo in the abdomen. "Shut up."

They waited as the plateless black Lacrosse pulled up, flashing its lights once before rolling to a stop beside their Impala.

"Good," Theo breathed quietly as the driver stepped out. "We're not outnumbered this time."

Draco nodded but flashed him a warning glare - _bite your tongue._

The man who stepped out of the car was almost impossibly slight, and far older than Draco would have expected. Not that much was to be expected from a man named _Griphook,_ which Draco had to assume was a nickname - though, upon seeing him, it seemed fitting. He had a sharply curved nose and sallow skin, and looked _precisely_ like the kind of person who would be meeting someone off a remote side street to purchase an arsenal of weapons - though decidedly less like someone who actually knew how to use them.

"Malfoy?" he called, walking towards them with an eerily calculated slickness to his motions.

"Griphook," Draco ventured, and the other man nodded.

"Let me see them," Griphook said gruffly, gesturing, and Draco beckoned obligingly, stepping away from the trunk as Theo popped it open.

"Not bad," Griphook commented, looking over the stores of weapons in the trunk. "Tom's - shall we say, _enthusiasm_ \- led me to believe there was some element of urgency involved." He looked up, fixing Draco with his unsettlingly dark stare. "Everything must go?"

Draco shrugged. "Sort of the essence of business, isn't it?"

Griphook made a face - as though he agreed with the sentiment, but didn't wish to - and huffed softly before returning his attention to the guns, his discerning gaze visibly snagging slightly as he bent over the trunk, eyeing something on the barrel of one of the AKs.

Theo and Draco exchanged wary glances over his head, and Griphook - whose awareness of their motions was uncannily tuned; _a consequence of such endeavors_ , Draco assumed - looked up, smirking.

"Yes, I know," he informed them curtly, and Draco felt a warning throb in his shoulder, wondering if this man's reaction would be much different from Greyback's. "But," he clarified heavily, "I traffic in _things_ , not origin stories." He shrugged. "I'm interested in the face value only."

"Black market, then?" Theo guessed, and Griphook turned towards him with a razor-like sharpness, shaking his head.

"Boy, has no one taught you when to not ask questions?" he grunted, looking as though he considered smacking the back of Theo's head. "I'll take them, and that's all you need to know."

"Fine," Draco said firmly, giving Theo a silencing glance. "We don't care where they go from here."

"Yes, I thought as much," Griphook mused, crossing his arms to look up at him, "and that's the beauty of it, isn't it?" He gestured to the contents of the trunk. "That there are _so many_ potential buyers who don't care where they came from, either."

"The many and moneyed," Theo quipped, and Griphook looked up at him again.

"You know, you're clever," Griphook remarked slowly, "but you should really be _silent._ "

"I'm told," Theo replied airily, and Griphook smirked again.

"Tell Tom I'll take them," he said, fidgeting impatiently with the cuff of his jacket. "I want all of them delivered to my warehouse by the end of the week. Full payment on delivery."

"Done," Draco said, fighting an inward sigh of relief. "I'll tell Riddle."

"Yes, you will," Griphook said, slamming the trunk shut and taking a step back, pausing to glance between them before he spoke. "Rumor has it you've been made to carry _several_ messages back to Tom," he added carefully, meeting Draco's eye. "This one, I think, slightly less intrusive."

"Which is appreciated," Draco admitted tightly, reflexively rolling the stiffness from his shoulder and wondering how he'd known. "Funny, though," he added, "how word can travel."

"There's a bit of chatter in my networks," Griphook said, shrugging. "It's not a huge world we live in, you know. It's a rather" - he paused, curling a hand thoughtfully around his chin - "close-knit community."

"Minus the shooting," Theo tossed out casually.

"Indeed," Griphook agreed, teasing his shoulders back, unfazed. "Well, gentlemen," he said, nodding to them, "the end of the week then. I'll have Tom tell you where to bring them."

"Lovely," Theo muttered under his breath as Draco stepped closer to him, jabbing an elbow into his ribs.

"End of the week," Draco confirmed loudly, nodding, and Griphook got into his car, tilting his head once to consider them before driving away, the taillights gradually disappearing.

"Well," Theo said, straightening, "what now? Estate planning?"

"Hilarious," Draco said with a grimace. "Let's go," he sighed, turning back to the car. "I need a fucking drink."

"At the Manor?" Theo asked, opening the passenger door. "We have to stop there anyway."

"And chance running into my fucking father? No," Draco said, shaking his head. " _No_. We're fucking going out."

Theo smiled. "Fucking _out_ it is, then, Lord Malfoy," he said, gesturing to the road as Draco started the ignition.

* * *

"Blech," Hermione muttered, setting down the shot glass and making a face. "What the fuck is the _point_ of something called a buttery nipple?"

"It tastes good," Padma said, tapping her nose. "Like candy."

"It tastes like diabetes," Hermione said, sticking out her tongue.

"I like how feisty you've gotten," Harry commented, shouting a little in her ear to combat the rising volume of chatter and music. The spattering of people had grown to a decently large crowd, and Hermione, more drinks in than she cared to admit, was beginning to feel like she didn't actively mind. She paused for a minute before answering - also pausing to wonder if that was Harry's hand on her upper thigh - but shrugged it off, letting herself be pulled forward as Padma yanked her into the center of the bar.

"Let's dance," she purred in Hermione's ear, putting on a show for Ron, and Hermione rolled her eyes but agreed, feeling the bass thud through her veins and letting her hips sway, watching other people join them and wondering whether or not she might have wanted -

"May I?" Harry said gallantly, reaching for her hand, and she turned to face him as Padma sidled up to Ron.

"You want to dance?" Hermione asked, surprised, and Harry grinned.

"Why, you think I can't?" he asked, punctuating the statement with an exaggerated roll of his hips, and she laughed, letting herself be pulled against him.

"No, I definitely believe you can," she said, throwing her arms over his shoulders. "Though I thought we were friends?"

He shrugged. "Friends dance," he assured her. "They do other things, too, sometimes - "

"Mm," she agreed, making a face. "Subtle, Harry."

"I'm incredibly subtle," he said solemnly, and as a smile slipped across his face, she knew she was closer than she should have been - but one too many buttery nipples and maybe she wasn't so sure that was such a bad thing.

 _He wasn't Draco, of course,_ she thought, _but -_

"Uh oh," Harry muttered, glancing at the entrance. "Ron's not going to like this."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, turning, and Harry shook his head.

"Motorcycles," he said, gesturing, and her heart flipped and twisted -

"Death Eaters," he concluded flatly.

The door opened, then, and a group of men walked in; the first two were stocky, thickly constructed and one notably taller than the other, both looking hardened and vaguely smug. Hermione happened to catch a glance from Harry to Ron and watched a muscle twitch in Ron's jaw, a look of pending wariness.

"Is that," Hermione began, trying to draw moisture to her throat, "are they - "

"Crabbe and Goyle," Harry informed her quickly. "I've met them a few times."

She watched as a third person entered the bar; a lean, dark-haired man who reminded her a bit of Draco, someone with the same easy elegance and tacit aristocracy that was so incongruous against the backdrop of tattoos and leather. A lightly patrician smirk traced its way slowly across his lips as he nodded irreverently at Ron, turning to mutter to someone behind him who had yet to walk through the door.

"Theo Nott," Harry explained in her ear. "Upper echelon in the club as far as I can tell."

Hermione's breath caught. "Didn't Ron say he was - " she swallowed. "Someone's sidekick?"

Harry shrugged. "I suspect he's less a sidekick than he seems, but yes, in a sense," he murmured back. "He's rarely seen without - "

The door opened further and her breath snagged, ripped open at the sight of the pale blond head that ducked its way through the frame -

" - Draco Malfoy," Harry finished, his grip tightening on her slightly. "The prince among thieves, or so I imagine he thinks," he added, appearing to find the statement highly unsavory.

"What do _you_ think of him?" she asked, noting that a few feet away, Ron had clenched a fist, staring openly at Draco like he wished to put him through a wall.

"I'd like him better if he were a little less smart," Harry determined, grimacing. "Ron's reasons for hating him - I can take them or leave them. That's just history as far as I'm concerned." He shook his head. "But Malfoy is - he's a little _too_ sophisticated," Harry explained hesitantly. "He's less a thug than a clever manipulator," he ruled, "and in my experience, the kind of bully who can get under your skin with a word is a dangerous kind of man."

"He got under your skin?" Hermione asked, surprised.

Harry shrugged indifferently. "Like I said, I'd like him better if he weren't as smart as he is," he concluded. "Crabbe, Goyle, they're typical goons. I'm not surprised they work for Riddle. Malfoy, though, and even Nott - though I suspect Nott's loyalty is tied more to Malfoy than it is to Riddle," Harry qualified quickly, and Hermione nodded, " _they_ don't seem the type to be governed."

"Well, Officer," Hermione teased playfully, trying to ignore Draco's presence, "what does that tell you?"

"It tells me," Harry returned slowly, "that if the Death Eaters _do_ get themselves into trouble, it'll be especially dangerous if Malfoy's involved. If I were Riddle," he said slowly, "I wouldn't entrust anything important to most of the Death Eaters. But with Malfoy, on the other hand - " He paused, frowning. "I just think Riddle can do a lot more damage _with_ Malfoy than without him, and I think he knows that too."

"You really get in this Riddle guy's head," Hermione commented, suddenly curious. "Why?"

"It's how I do my job," Harry replied, shrugging. "Can't really think like a cop or I'd never sort anything out. You have to think like _them_ ," he explained, gesturing across the bar. "Like, for example, I have to imagine that if Malfoy is involved, there's something more at play than money. He's got plenty of it," he added, "as does his father, so - "

Harry cut off abruptly, stiffening as he watched Ron take a step forward. "Hold on," he murmured in her ear, and she nodded, watching as he released her to take hold of Ron's arm.

"What're you doing here?" Ron demanded, shaking himself loose and stomping towards Draco.

"What, we can't get a drink, Weasel?" Nott asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "How unsurprisingly unrefined of you."

"I'm not talking to you," Ron said through his teeth, and Nott smirked, gesturing for Draco.

"All yours," Nott muttered, his laughing eyes glinting as Draco took a step forward.

"Weasley," Draco said smoothly, running a hand through his hair. Hermione watched the line of his forearm, swallowing an urge to shout for his attention. "Potter," he acknowledged, looking supremely disinterested. "Thomas," he added, nodding at Dean, who - to Hermione's surprise, nodded back - "and - "

He stopped, his gaze falling on her. She held her breath.

"Finnegan," he called loudly, tearing his eyes away from her, "four whiskeys, would you?"

Seamus nodded, pulling out four glasses, as Draco returned his attention to Ron.

"Now, Weasley, where were we," he mused, considering him through narrowed eyes. "You were about to throw a tantrum, I imagine?"

"Careful, Malfoy," Ron seethed, and Hermione watched Harry's grip on his arm renew itself and tighten. "Don't forget what I am."

"How could I?" Draco asked, shrugging. His gaze flicked helplessly to hers and she took a step back, blending into the group of people around them. "You've been showing up every goddamn day to remind me, haven't you - " he looked down, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly as he leaned into the word, " _Officer?_ "

"Not for your sake," Ron snarled. "I don't give a shit what happens to you. To _any_ of you," he added, glaring at the others.

"Look," Harry cut in evenly, "we're all just here to have a drink, okay?" He glanced at Ron once, checking, before turning his attention to Draco. "There's no reason we can't just coexist."

"Well, Officer Potter, that's mighty indulgent of you," Nott drawled from his place beside Draco. "I know _I'm_ certainly not here to put Weasley's panties in a twist." He turned to Draco. "You?"

"I could do without the added strain," Draco permitted airily. "We'll keep to ourselves, Potter, not to worry," he added, right before his gaze slipped at her again.

She felt the blow of his grey eyes and bit her lip, wondering. He stared back, answering.

"Gents," Seamus called, placing their drinks on the bar. "Your libations."

There was a shift in the energy of the room as Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott all crossed the floor, reaching for their drinks; Draco took a step forward, still watching her.

"You good?" she heard Harry mutter to Ron, who replied with a gruff mutter and turned to Padma, shaking off the encounter.

Hermione, noting that his attention was elsewhere, slipped quietly towards the back of the bar.

* * *

 _Fuck_ , he thought, watching her disappear - she was all legs and tiny waist and propped up cleavage and _fucking sex_ in that dress -

"Give me a minute," he muttered to Theo, who nodded vacantly, still watching Weasley with amusement as he raised his glass to his lips.

Draco surreptitiously followed her as she headed to the back of the bar, slipping into the single-stall bathroom. He looked around before testing the door; it was unlocked.

He opened it and she was waiting, leaning back against the sink.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world," she murmured, smiling.

He shut the door behind him, waiting for the click of the lock before taking a step towards her.

"You didn't tell me you were friends with cops," he said, placing his hands on either side of her hips and leaning against the lip of the sink. "And here I thought you were just the _normal_ kind of dangerous."

"There's an abnormal kind?" she asked, leaning back so that her chest brushed up against his.

"It was bad enough when you were just a brilliant doctor," he said carefully, fighting the itching need to take hold of her waist. "It's _infinitely_ worse now that you're literally fucking the law."

"I'm not fucking the law," she said, smiling coyly. "We're just friends."

"Oh, did I ask?" he murmured, curling a finger under her chin and passing her a teasing glance. "Sorry, slip of the tongue."

He watched her swallow at that.

"You really do like to make things difficult, don't you?" he asked, smirking as her fingers made their way to the waistband of his jeans.

"Oh," she said, pursing her lips. "Why, am I making things hard?"

His cock twitched.

"Innuendo," he commented wryly. "You must be drunk, Doc - you can do better."

"Don't patronize me," she warned, giving his jeans a yank. He picked her up, setting her on the sink and putting himself between her legs. "If you're jealous, just say so."

"Fine," he murmured, letting his eyes rake over the neckline of her dress. "I'm jealous."

"Good," she said briskly, suddenly businesslike as she straightened. "Seeing as _you_ should have called." She leaned forward, pulling him by the collar. "You'd only have yourself to blame if I'd gone home with Harry tonight," she informed him, and privately, he agreed.

"I didn't have your number," he pointed out, forcing a swallow.

"You couldn't have found me?" she prompted, pouting.

He eyed her lips - remembered the taste of them, _fuck_ \- and smiled.

"I could have," he agreed. "I should have." He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the side of her neck. "Does this mean you're in need of my services?" he asked softly.

"Ah," she whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Not beg," he countered, shaking his head. " _Ask_."

She smiled. "Ask and you shall receive?" she mused.

"Unless you want _me_ to receive," he said, shrugging, and she laughed.

"What was it you said?" she asked, leaning her head back as he kissed a narrow path up the side of her neck. "That if I wanted an orgasm - "

"Sounds familiar," he agreed, taking hold of her face with one hand and bringing her mouth to his, tasting the night's indiscretions on her breath and marveling at her unfailing sweetness. "In _fact -_ "

He slipped his hand under her dress, sliding his palm against her inner thigh before burying two fingers in her cunt, bringing his thumb up to rub against her clit. She gasped into his mouth and he smiled, reveling in the feel of her, velvet-smooth and perfect.

"What do you think?" he asked, watching her lashes flutter against her cheek. "Are you busy now?"

She let her head roll back and he kissed his way from her mouth to her throat, pressing his lips against the vibration of her voice as she hummed her satisfaction.

"You're - not fucking me in this bathroom," she managed hoarsely, shifting her hips to allow him better access. "I'm - "

"A lady, I know," he whispered, increasing the speed of his fingers and glorifying in the silent _oh god_ that slipped out from between her lips. "Believe me, I don't want to fuck you in here either."

She let out a whimper and he pulled her closer, intent on making her come with _fucking_ Officer Potter right outside the door - _whether he was fucking her or not_ , Draco thought, hating the dark-haired man a little; a voice inside him roared possessively and clawed uncontrollably at his chest.

"Let me take you home," he offered quietly, and she grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his lips desperately to hers and then crying out into his mouth as he felt her contract around his fingers. He let her grind against his hand, riding it out, before breaking free to look at her.

"You mean," she corrected him eventually, struggling to catch her breath, "that _I_ should take _you_ home."

He licked the taste of vodka from her lips and shrugged. "I'm driving," he warned, and she laughed.

"Meet me outside," she whispered, pushing his hand away and leaping down from the sink - _with a surprising grace_ , he thought, _all things considered_. She turned to the mirror, smoothing her hair and giving him a devastating look of prim seduction before unlocking the door and slipping through it.

He waited a few seconds before exiting through the alley behind the bar, making his way to his bike out front. She came out the front door, glancing anxiously over her shoulder, and he handed her his helmet.

"Here," he said. "Put this on."

She paused, looking startled. "What?"

"Put it on," he instructed, "and _quickly_ ," he advised emphatically, "or else your cop entourage is going to know exactly what kind of degenerate you let into your bed."

She made a face, accepting it, but frowned. " _You_ need a helmet," she insisted.

"Closer to God without one," he replied, shrugging. "You coming?"

He watched a coquettish smile flicker on her face as she climbed onto his Harley, straddling him. "Not yet," she murmured in his ear, and he shook his head.

"You're the worst," he told her, and she laughed, the sound of it drowned out behind him as he started the ignition.

* * *

 **a/n:** Happy belated birthday to UnicornShenanigans! The quote is, of course from _Casablanca_ : " _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."_


	7. Baser Urges

**a/n:** _Okay, listen - this is a smutty fic. Let's all just assume sex could be lurking around the corner and agree not to read while your boss/professor is looking over your shoulder. Because spoiler: it is._

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Baser Urges**

"What did you tell Officer Potter?" Draco asked, barely managing to stumble in through her front door, his fingers wrapped possessively around her hips. He reached around, pulling the Glock from his waistband and setting it surreptitiously on her entry table.

" _This_ is what you want to talk about?" she asked skeptically, her voice muffled as she shook her head against his lips. "Seriously?"

"Well, indulge me," he murmured, pinning her wrists above her head and pressing her against the wall. "Permit me my baser urges" - he bent his head, nipping lightly at her neck - "and then I'll satisfy yours."

She squirmed against him. "I told him," she started, gasping as he pulled her dress up, running his hand along the smooth expanse of her thigh, "that I wasn't feeling well, and that I called a cab - "

"Quick cab," Draco remarked offhandedly, and she laughed.

"He was busy with Ron," she said, shrugging. "I doubt he noticed."

At Weasley's name, he stiffened; she caught it.

"You have a problem with Ron," she mused, wrenching a hand free to pull his chin up. "Dare I ask?"

"I have a number of other things I'd prefer to talk about," he told her, picking her up to wrap her legs around his hips. "For example," he said in her ear, "the way I'm going to take this dress off you - "

"The precise scientific method, you mean?" she teased, and for some reason, he felt himself harden at that.

"With my teeth," he supplied, and she grinned, pulling his lips to hers again. "Right after I lick your lovely little cunt, of course - "

"No," she growled suddenly, shoving him away and pulling her dress down. "Nope, nope, nope."

"What?" he asked, panicked. "What did I - "

She kicked off her shoes - _damn,_ he lamented, having planned on leaving them on - and dropped slowly to her knees, still looking up at him.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, watching her; she let her fingers flutter above his zipper before seeming to think better of it, deftly undoing the button of his jeans and then tentatively leaning forward, taking the zipper between her teeth and tugging it down.

"Holy shit," he managed, swallowing, and she yanked his jeans to the ground, waiting for him to kick them away before suddenly abandoning her torturous patience and taking his cock in her hand, eyeing it closely - _determinedly -_ and in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"You know," she said leisurely, rubbing her thumb across his tip, "you really do have an _outstanding_ penis."

"Jesus Christ, how drunk are you?" he choked out, shutting his eyes as she swirled her tongue across the head of his cock, tasting him.

"I'm just saying," she said, leaning back to nod appreciatively. "As a doctor and anatomical expert," she clarified mercilessly, "it's a fucking perfect dick." She leaned in, lifting it to lick slowly up the underside of his shaft before glancing up, smiling at him. "The size is, of course, ideal," she noted, gripping him firmly as though to emphasize this, "and the shape is just - it's gorgeous." She nodded at his cock, approving it. "Tastes good, too," she added, taking it in her mouth and giving it a long, languid suck before releasing it with a pop, running her tongue across her lip.

"You're killing me, Doc," he muttered, dumbfounded. "You're literally _killing_ me - "

"As your doctor, I really feel I would be remiss if I did not give you the most thorough diagnosis at my disposal," she said, and he gripped her hair, wrapping his fingers in her curls. "It's important to me that you understand how uniquely blessed you are in the dick arena."

"Dick arena," he repeated, panting a little as she took him in her mouth again - _deep_ this time, so deep he almost wanted to just give up and fuck her on the floor; only _fuck,_ she was killing him like this _already_ \- "is that a medical term?"

"Colloquialism," she corrected, releasing him from her mouth to speak, leaving him to fully regret saying anything. She pumped his cock in her fist a couple of times and then looked up again, still with the prim little smile on her lips. "It's good bedside manner, you know, to use terms the patient understands."

"If you want to play doctor," he growled, "baby, I can play - "

But she had returned her attention to his dick - _thankfully_ \- and was blowing him with fervor now; with a goddamn breathtaking enthusiasm. He widened his stance, letting his head fall back, and _fuck_ , he was so close, but not like this - not without -

"Bedroom," he muttered, grabbing her shoulders to raise her up from her knees, and she gripped his wrist, pulling him through an open door on the right. She looked a little flustered for a moment; she had some scattered clothes on the bed and tossed them quickly to the floor, turning to look sheepishly at him, but he couldn't have been bothered to think of anything other than how badly he wanted to make a mistake - with her - _again_.

He stood, staring at her, wondering how to start; just _how,_ exactly, he wanted to -

"How do you want to come?" she whispered, and he groaned.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, his cock throbbing. "You're not - you can't be - "

"What?" she asked, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "I can't be what?"

"You can't be _real_ ," he said, shaking his head, and she laughed, taking a few steps back and pulling him on top of her. He pushed her dress up - _next time,_ he thought, _next round I'll take it off_ \- and entered her quickly, sliding easily through the wetness at her core and prompting them both to moan aloud, her hips rising off the bed to meet his.

It didn't take long; she was louder this time, and her appreciation - the sound of his name - nearly an embattled yell on her tongue, and the fact that her inhibitions had been so fully abandoned made it impossible for him to maintain his. He came, _hard,_ and gasped, barely managing a breath; and while she mewled contentedly underneath him, he knew it was, to some extent, a lie.

"Hold on," he panted, and pulled out quickly, nudging her legs apart. "Not done - "

He spread the lips of her cunt apart and lowered his mouth to her clit, running the broad side of his tongue against it before sucking lightly, letting his teeth graze against it the way he knew she liked. He tasted himself on her; tasted her, too, and decided he liked the way they mixed together.

She came within seconds.

He smiled.

* * *

Hermione woke up to a pounding headache, to nudity, and to a note on her bedside table beside a glass of water.

 _Drink this,_ it said, with two Advil tablets beside it.

She sighed, rolling onto her back. _Of course he was gone_ , she thought, cursing the disappointment that settled in her stomach. _Tattoos and motorcycles don't exactly scream 'see you in the morning' -_

She groaned and rubbed at her eyes, figuring it was best. She was probably a disaster, anyway; makeup everywhere, surely. Better he didn't see her like this. She picked up her phone, looking through her text messages. **_Hope you got home safe!_ ** from Harry. **_Call me tomorrow?_**

 ** _Hey_** _,_ she typed back. **_Sorry, got a bit out of hand last night._**

She saw a response forming on the screen and remembered he was probably getting ready for work.

 ** _You weren't bad at all! Ron and Padma were . . . worse. Much worse._**

She laughed. **_How bad?_**

 ** _Catastrophic._**

 _ **Oh** ,_ she typed, **_you poor thing. I should have helped._**

 _ **Nah** ,_ he responded. **_It was fine. Coffee today?_**

She paused, thinking. _Sure,_ she typed, just as she heard her front door swing open, the sound of rustling coming from the entry.

She paused before hitting send, struggling to pull on a pair of black yoga pants and a soft grey crew neck sweatshirt that had been tossed carelessly to the floor before grabbing the glass of water and creeping into the living room, forcing a sip.

"Oh," she croaked, catching the back of Draco's blond head. "I thought you'd - "

"Left?" he asked, turning to grin at her. She swallowed, hating him a bit for looking that good; she raised a hand quickly, tousling her hair, and hoped last night's mascara wasn't _too_ smeared.

"Unfortunately for you, Doc, I'm still here," he said, shrugging. "Got you coffee," he explained. "You don't have any," he said, gesturing to her unused machine, "which is criminal."

"Looks like that's not all you got," she commented wryly, forcing another swallow of water before taking a seat at one of her kitchen stools. "Bagels?"

"Bagels," he agreed, pulling a knife out of her silverware drawer and stabbing it carelessly into a small vat of whipped cream cheese. "I'd have made you eggs, but I don't have the time or will to stock your kitchen."

"Neither do I, obviously," she said, smiling as he set a cup of coffee down in front of her. "Eggs, huh?" she asked, watching him prepare her breakfast. "I didn't take you as the breakfast making type."

"Well, you took me as the leave-before-breakfast type, so maybe you're not as smart as you think you are, Doc," he said airily, opening one of the cupboards. "Plates?" he asked, turning over his shoulder to look accusingly at her.

"Dishwasher," she said, pointing, and he sighed.

"Clean?" he asked, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Yes?" she guessed. "I think."

"Dear god, what kind of human person are you," Draco grumbled, reaching over to rip a suitable portion of a paper towel and arranging two halves of a bagel on it, placing it in front of her. "There," he said, gesturing to it. "Enjoy that. Diagon classic."

"Classic, huh?" she asked, picking it up to sniff it. "Plain?"

"For now," he said, shrugging. "I'll upgrade you to the garlic rosemary when you've gained a proper appreciation for the Leaky Cauldron's delicacies. And," he added carelessly, leaning against the counter to sip his coffee as she took a bite, "when I'm not planning on fucking you all day."

She choked on her overlarge bite, coughing up cream cheese as he smirked, unfazed.

"Oh," she managed, wiping stray moisture from her eye, and he took another sip of his coffee.

"Take your time," he assured her, the smirk turning devilish as he watched her try to compose herself. "I'm in no hurry."

"I, um," she said, clearing her throat and stumbling as she aimed helplessly for words, "I just - "

"How is it?" he interrupted, gesturing to the bagel. "Good?"

"Yes, actually," she said, remembering. She took another bite, eyeing him, and he mimed a zipper across his lips, promising not to speak. It really _was_ a delicious bagel, though it was hard now to focus on that; funny, she thought, that she would have ever been suitably pleased at the thought of breakfast without the promise of sex.

"It's good," she said, swallowing. "Really good."

"Well, don't get carried away," he warned, stepping forward to lean his elbows against the counter. "I mean, it's not my cock, but I'm sure it's satisfying in its own way."

She felt herself flush. "Oh, god," she said, suddenly recalling what she'd said about his penis while she'd been unduly influenced by vodka. "I'm _so_ sorry - "

He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be," he said, raising his cup to his lips. "Easily the best speech I've ever gotten about my dick."

"I'm glad," she said, hiding her face as she downed another gulp of water, "seeing as I don't think I've ever felt compelled to _give_ a speech about a dick before."

"Frankly, Granger, I loved it," he said emphatically. "Anytime you feel an ode coming on, feel free to let me know."

"Lovely," she said, rolling her eyes. "Unfortunately, I think sober Hermione is probably a little less willing to compose such things."

"Well, I think I'll manage to contain my disappointment, at least temporarily," he assured her, reaching forward to take a bite of her bagel. "How are you feeling?"

"Sort of unsteady," she admitted. "A little foggy."

"Water," he said, pointing to it. "Recovery is important, Doc, you know this."

"Are you charging a co-pay for this appointment?" she asked, picking up the glass. "Just want to know what I'm getting into," she clarified, sipping it.

"Very clever," he said, taking another sip of coffee. "But I would never dream of usurping your position."

"Thanks," she said drily, finishing the glass and taking another bite of her bagel. "Leaky Cauldron, you said?"

"Yep," he confirmed, nodding. "Local favorite."

"I've really haven't been anywhere in Diagon," she realized, shaking her head. "I barely have anything other than take-out and hospital food. Dean might have mentioned that place before, now that I think about it, but - "

She stopped, eyeing Draco. "Wait," she remembered, backtracking. "You know Dean?"

"Fucking everyone knows Thomas," Draco said with a shrug. "Mostly because none of us can figure out where the doctor impulse even _came_ from."

"Was he not good at school?" Hermione asked, and Draco shook his head.

"It wasn't that he wasn't _good_ at it," he said, "he just didn't seem to care. Always hung around with Finnegan and Weasley, really quiet - " he shrugged. "I wasn't so much surprised when he left, but I was _fully_ surprised that he came back."

"I think he underwent some kind of transformation in med school," Hermione said. "Plus, Seamus."

"Ah, yes," Draco said, nodding. "Certainly the better of his options," he added, his expression souring.

"Ron again," Hermione commented, licking cream cheese from her thumb. "What's the deal?"

"It's ancient history, Granger," Draco said, stiffening. "I wouldn't deign to bore you with it."

"Says the man with Plato tattooed on his knuckles," she reminded him, pointing. "Indulge me," she prompted. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do _anything_ to him," Draco sniffed. "We're just . . . natural enemies, I guess you could say. But look at him," he added. "He needs a villain to think himself a hero. I just happen to conveniently fill the role." He grimaced. "He should consider it a favor, frankly."

"Villain," Hermione repeated. "Why?"

"There's a valid reason, and a highly invalid reason," Draco began, rolling his eyes. "His father was - "

He broke off, frowning at her, like she'd almost wrenched open a door she shouldn't have. "I suffered an unwise indiscretion when it came to his younger sister," he amended, visibly rerouting conversation. "In high school. Got messy, and he never really got over it."

"That's not at _all_ the valid reason," Hermione remarked, and he shook his head.

"Believe me, it really wasn't," Draco agreed. "It happened once at a party and I don't think we ever even spoke again. Weasley tried to fight me over it, of course," he added, reeking of condescension, " _naturally,_ and while I don't necessarily fault his motivations, I don't really see why he's surprised that he walked away with a black eye and a broken nose."

She eyed the scars on Draco's fingers and wondered, privately, how Ron might have thought such a thing would have been fruitful.

"What did your father do?" she asked, and he took a few reflexive steps back at that, looking intently at his cup of coffee.

"Some things," he said stiffly, his voice oddly quiet, "you really don't want to know." He looked up, meeting her eye. "Okay?"

"If you wanted to tell me," she started to say gently, but he cut her off with a firm slicing motion of his hand.

"I don't," he assured her. "It's not worth bringing up."

"Okay," she said, feeling uneasy. "Sorry, I just - "

"Don't be sorry," he said briskly, setting down his now-empty mug. "So," he said, gesturing, "any plans for the day?"

"Mm," she thought, remembering her phone. "One second."

 _ **Sorry** ,_ she typed to Harry, **_I think I need to stay home and sleep today._**

 _ **No worries** ,_ he replied. **_Get some rest. I'll stop by the hospital tomorrow._**

 _ **You're the best** ,_ she wrote back, setting the phone down on the counter.

"I'm free," she determined, sliding off the stool and finishing the last of her bagel half before turning towards her bedroom. "Just let me take a shower, and then - "

She stopped as he stepped towards her, resting his hands on her hips. She leaned back against him, feeling the thrill of his chest against her spine.

"Need help?" he asked, parting her legs with his knee and slipping a hand from her waist to slide it under the band of her yoga pants. "Some places are" - he paused, circling a finger at her entrance - "difficult to reach," he murmured in her ear, biting lightly on her earlobe as she fought a whimper.

"True," she exhaled, closing her eyes. "It can be so - " she reached behind her, running a hand over his already stiffening length, " _hard_ , don't you think?"

"You really are the worst," he muttered and she turned with a laugh, kissing him speechless as they stumbled to her bathroom.

* * *

He fucked her against the shower wall; even with her hair wet - with the red slap of hot water against her skin - she was exquisite, and while he had never been a man to marvel, he stole his fervent glances quietly, letting her bury herself in the imprint of her nails against his skin and watching as she let her head fall back, eyes shut, until he couldn't remember having witnessed anything so fucking -

 _Pure._

"So," he said, wrapping a towel around his hips and eyeing the marks he'd left on her skin, the slightly purple bruising that was beginning to show around her clavicle, "is there anything you needed to get done today?"

"Not particularly," she replied, tousling her hair with a towel. "I usually loaf around on my days off, just trying to recover - "

"I suppose that explains the lack of clean dishes," he said, smirking at her, and she reached out, backhanding him lightly against the shoulder.

"Look, I'm _busy,_ " she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't usually entertain guests."

"Clearly," he agreed, stepping behind her and watching as she ran a thick comb through her hair, parsing out the tangled curls. "But," he said, pressing his lips against the top of her head, "surely it's not out of the question."

"What, cleaning?" she asked, whipping around to make a face at him. " _No_ ," she said, and he laughed.

"Well, at some point before the next time I come over, at least," he murmured, nudging her chin up to kiss her neck. "Something to consider."

"The _next_ time?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow, though she leaned against her bathroom sink, pressing her hips against his. "Have we discussed this?"

"Fine, cut me loose, then," he said loudly, taking a step back. "I suppose that leaves you free to continue pursuing Officer Potter," he added, "every woman's dream - "

"Oh, stop," she said, pulling him back to her by the towel, which he conveniently allowed to slide down from his hips as he consented to resume kissing her. "Don't tell me you hate _him_ , too - "

"Hate?" he echoed. "Granger, I haven't the time for such things," he informed her. "I merely find it fascinating that your tastes could vary so drastically between his moral fortitude and my - "

He paused, trailing off, and she eyed him carefully.

"Yes?" she prompted, nudging a finger into his chest. "What _is_ it that you do, Draco Malfoy?"

"I," he announced grandly, "am a mechanic. _Far_ beneath you," he assured her, pressing his palms down on her hips, "or at least, I am when I'm lucky," he added, winking, and she smacked him again, laughing.

"You think I'll think less of you for what you do for a living?" she asked. "If anything, I would think it would be a relief."

"Why's that?" he asked, biting softly on her finger as she traced it over his lip.

"Well, I don't personally know too many mechanics who get shot in the shoulder," she ventured carefully, "and _then_ proceed to risk their lives so as to avoid having the bullet collected by the police."

"Ah, the extraneous details," he said, shrugging. "Call me a victim of circumstance."

"I wouldn't call you a _victim_ of anything," she mused, giving him one of her sharp, scrutinizing Dr Granger looks and reminding him just how dangerous this was, indulging his unwise attraction to a woman that was far too smart to fully deceive. "What _really_ happened to you?"

"Trust me," he told her gruffly, "it's better that you not know."

"You know, oddly," she said, tilting her head appealingly at him, "I don't really find that comforting."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't exist to comfort you, then," he reminded her, shaking his head at the prospect. "I told you, I'm bad for you." He tucked a damp curl behind her ear, trying to mean it. "Whatever this is, it can't be serious."

"I don't have time for serious," she assured him. "I barely have time for dishes, remember?"

"True," he conceded, smirking. "As long as we're clear," he said emphatically. "Because if you think I'm the kind of person you can take home to your family for Christmas dinner - "

"Fuck Christmas dinner," she cut in at a whisper, and he smiled.

"Precisely," he murmured, and she drew his lips down to hers.

* * *

"No," Draco said loudly. "I'm not eating that."

"Why not?" Hermione demanded. "It's good, they deliver quickly - "

"There are two Thai restaurants in town, Granger," he interrupted vigorously, picking up the phone book that she'd been using to prop up her desktop monitor. " _This_ is not the good one."

"What are you, the prince of Diagon?" she asked, though the moment she said it, she realized he probably did imagine himself that way; _a prince among thieves,_ Harry had said, and it came as no surprise now.

"I'm a man of singular taste, Doc," he said, letting his gaze flick hungrily over her. "You know this."

"God, are you still - " She cut off, rolling her eyes as he smirked at her. "Seriously?"

"Why?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Are you already worn out? Because I can make _myself_ dinner, you know," he informed her. " _My_ house contains produce, and other important vitamins and minerals - "

"No," she said quickly, and as she confessed it, she realized she really, _really_ wasn't. "Not quite done," she said, making a face as his smirk broadened triumphantly. "Oh, _stop -_ "

"I didn't say anything," he informed her cheekily, coming over to give her a light slap on the rear. "Don't get carried away."

He bent to kiss her and she sighed. "I _am_ hungry, though," she said, and he nodded. "Can't we just go get something?"

He stiffened uneasily. "I," he began. "I just don't think that's a good idea," he murmured, and she sighed.

"Because you're a _mechanic,_ " she said, looking up at him. "Right?"

"Right," he replied, wincing.

"Huh," she commented, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Any chance you're some kind of superhero?"

"Low," he replied. "Very low chance."

"Bummer," she said, but pulled back, shrugging. "Doesn't matter, really," she determined. "I don't have time for anything more than this," she said, running a hand along the edges of his abs. "And I don't care what we eat," she added, brushing her lips against his, "so you can choose."

"Wise," he remarked against her lips. "I'll be sure to repay the favor."

"I know you will," she assured him, heading to the kitchen. "You order, then, and I'll grab some wine."

"Oh, _wine_ you have," he scoffed. "Never mind any conceivable source of nutrients - "

"Worst doctor ever, I know," she called back, and she heard him chuckle to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

She might have forgotten who or what he was - _whatever_ he was - if she hadn't noticed his gun on the entry table as she was paying the delivery man; it had distracted her for a moment, though, in general, Draco Malfoy was not a man who permitted distractions, sliding his hands under her shirt before she'd even finished her pad thai.

"Hey," she protested softly, but finding it pointless, eventually gave in, tossing the chopsticks against the black plastic container and letting him settle himself between her legs, kneeling in front of her as she leaned back against the couch.

"Sorry, Doc," he murmured against her stomach, kissing his way down her torso. "You'll have to get to bed early. Lives to save."

"I could have finished eating," she argued faintly, and he shook his head.

"You could have," he permitted, " _or -_ "

He jerked her hips up, yanking the flimsy material of her yoga pants from her hips - _why did I even bother with pants_ , she thought, letting him peel them from her legs - and throwing one leg over his shoulder, turning to bite down on the curve of her thigh.

"Or _that,_ " she agreed, closing her eyes. "Do that. And make it good," she added, reaching down to pat the top of his head, "seeing as I'm about to work for several days straight."

"Make it good," he muttered, shaking his head before biting down again, harder, making her yelp with surprise. "As if I'd do it any other way."

 _One of her smarter ideas?_ she thought, as his mouth made his way to her slit. _Probably not._

 _Her best idea?_ she thought, after he'd made her come and then perched back on his haunches, pulling her on top of him, his grip impossibly tight on her waist.

 _All things considered -_

"Draco," she sighed, feeling the urgent _want_ curling up again in her abdomen.

"So fucking good," he muttered in her ear, gasping as she ground against his hips, and if her mind had been caught momentarily by the gun at the door, it could only drift helplessly to the words on his chest - _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ \- before settling on the feel of him, of his hands on her skin.

She closed her eyes then, feeling sated.

It was her best day off, by far.

* * *

 **a/n:** For purqatory. I'm repenting for the sex cliffhanger.


	8. Wise Enough to Wonder

**Chapter 8: Wise Enough to Wonder**

"I think I'm growing on Griphook," Theo said matter-of-factly, climbing back into the Impala. "I could have sworn he looked happy to see me."

"If memory serves, his exact words were 'oh, _you're_ here,'" Draco reminded him, rolling his eyes. "And _then_ he called you 'the one with the mouth,' if I recall - "

"We get it, Draco, your mind is an _impenetrable steel trap_ ," Theo declared loudly, settling himself in the passenger seat, "but you're clearly missing all the obvious subtext of affection."

"Ah yes, the subtext," Draco sighed, turning the key in the ignition. "Right."

"You know, I feel it's also worth mentioning that I like _him_ ," Theo added, glancing over at Draco as they pulled out of the alley behind Griphook's so-called warehouse; which was, in reality, a currency exchange called Gringotts located within an old bank building. "Specifically, I like that he hasn't shot us yet."

" _Yet_ being the operative word," Draco commented, and Theo laughed, producing a vaguely mirthless hiccup of humor before trailing off in an awkward cough.

"Remember when it was just a casual retaliation here and there?" Theo asked, sighing. "Just some security gigs and shit back when _we_ were the scary ones with the guns?"

"Yes, and I _also_ remember living in a shitty apartment with you," Draco reminded him curtly. "Don't tell me you miss that."

Theo shuddered. "No," he agreed, "I definitely don't miss the fucking - _dearth_ of clean laundry, or the volume at which you eat cereal, or the amount of times I've heard you - "

"Surprisingly," Draco cut in loudly, "I don't need you to finish that sentence."

Theo grinned, tilting his head. " _So_ ," he continued, "in conclusion, while you may have a point," he conceded generously, "I still think this payout is going to have to be fucking _massive_ , considering."

"I have to assume it's the first of many," Draco commented, wondering how he felt about that.

"Payouts?" Theo asked. "Or perilous danglings of our lives for criminal financial gain?"

"Both," Draco said bluntly, ignoring his phrasing. "I can't imagine Tom's going to want to go back to sitting around and waiting to be asked for favors when he can have _that_ shit" - he gestured behind him, to the bags of cash in the trunk - "while barely lifting a finger."

"How do you think Tom even _found_ Griphook?" Theo asked. "He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you just calmly ring up when you've got a fucking stash of extra AKs - "

"Yes, _sure_ , Theo, these are definitely questions I ask myself," Draco drawled irritably. "And, of course, Tom fills me in on all his decisions, and then he tucks me in and kisses my forehead every night."

"You'd think one of these fucking days we'd be wise enough to wonder," Theo muttered, ignoring Draco's sarcasm.

Draco shrugged. "I'll wonder when the payments stop," he replied indifferently. "For _now_ , though - "

"Yeah, yeah," Theo said dismissively, waving a hand and slumping down in his seat. "You going to tell me what you've been up to, by the way?" he asked, glancing over at Draco.

"Oh, you know," Draco replied. "Just living my life, selling guns, solving world hunger. Et cetera."

"God, you're the worst," Theo sighed, shaking his head. "I _meant_ ," he clarified emphatically, "the girl you're fucking."

"Who says I'm fucking anyone?" Draco asked, glancing at him; at Theo's skeptically arched brow, he sighed. "Fine, so I'm fucking someone," he agreed, attempting nonchalance despite whatever surge of insanity rose up in his chest at the indirect mention of Granger. "You want me to kiss and tell?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?" Theo remarked drily, smirking. "Just seems worth mentioning, considering - "

"Considering _what_?" Draco pressed. "And since when do you care what I do with my dick?" he demanded, making a face as Theo drew himself up in protest.

"I'm _offended_ ," Theo huffed tartly. "You know perfectly well, Draco, that the concerns of your dick weigh heavily on my mind. Its contentedness," he ventured, "its overall satisfaction, its generally poor decisions - "

"You," Draco pronounced firmly, "can suck it."

"And what a rare honor _that_ would be, joining the privileged ranks of your admirers," Theo muttered, prompting Draco to backhand his shoulder. "But really," Theo continued. "One would think you might be a little more careful. Your disappearance from Rosmerta's wasn't exactly unnoticed - "

"I told you, I wasn't interested in being around Weasel, and fucking _Officer Potter -_ "

" - and then your subsequent unreachability, especially after the Subaru incident - "

"Really _not an incident_ , Theo - "

"I'm just _saying_ ," Theo repeated vigorously, "that maybe you should consider being a little more careful. For her sake." He brightened. "Or _his_ , if that's why you're - "

"I've already told you," Draco reminded him, smirking wickedly. "If I ever decide I want a dick in my mouth, I'll come straight to you."

"Brill," Theo declared, wrinkling his nose in opposition as he shook his head. "Things I fucking _love_ to hear."

They returned to the Manor to a small spattering of quiet applause - "Back in one piece," Rowle commented, to which Theo retorted, "Impressive, aren't we?" - and to discover that they had missed, in their absence, yet another visit from Slughorn.

"Has he fucking moved in?" Theo muttered to Darian, who handed each of them a beer. "It's like he comes over just to spoon with Tom - "

"You," Darian sighed decisively, "are going to get yourself killed."

"No need to flatter me," Theo sniffed, ducking as Darian reached around to smack the back of his head.

"What exactly is it Riddle's got going with Slughorn?" Draco asked, falling into one of the leather chairs as he took a sip of his beer; _a little hoppy,_ he decided, making a face, _but worse things have happened._ "Is this just about getting Diagon PD's protection while we've got Greyback scouring around?"

"Well, you'd think that could be handled over the phone," Theo said airily. "But pillow talk is so much better in person."

"Quiet, you," Darian muttered, shoving Theo into a chair. "Though, yes, it does seem like he's here quite a bit for that to be the full extent of the relationship."

"Potter wasn't back, was he?" Draco asked, the taste of the beer souring further as he mentioned the deputy's name.

Darian glanced sharply at him. "You got a problem with _him_ , now, too?" he asked, looking displeased. "Is this part of your unending blood war with Weasley?"

"Nah," Theo trumpeted, throwing his feet over the arm of the chair. "Potter is, just, you know," he shrugged, " _whatever_ , I guess, in our estimation."

"Irksome," Draco supplied; though, truthfully, the brutish roar of displeasure at the memory of the other man's hand on Hermione's waist was a touch more than an _irk_.

"I thought he handled the two of you pretty well," Darian commented, his dark eyes glittering with muted entertainment. "He certainly seems smart enough - "

"Yeah, and since when has that ever been something useful for us?" Theo countered roughly. "A smart _cop_?"

Darian shrugged. "Tom knows what he's doing," he assured them blandly, ignoring Theo's skeptical glance.

"Yes, but does _Slughorn_?" Draco insisted. "He called Potter pliable, didn't he?"

"Did he?" Darian asked, frowning. "That - "

"Doesn't sound right, does it?" Draco prompted. "That was my thought," he clarified, and Theo nodded.

"Potter's certainly not spooning with Tom _or_ Slughorn," Theo started, receiving a silencing glare from Darian just as the boardroom door behind them opened.

"You're back," Lucius remarked, poking his head out to glance at them. "How'd it go?"

"We are whole," Theo announced pompously, as Draco offered, "Fine."

Lucius sighed. "Just get in," he muttered, and Darian winked at them, clinking his bottle against Draco's before striding back to the pool table to join Rowle, Avery, and Crabbe.

"Gentlemen," Tom acknowledged, gesturing for them to sit. "I trust your encounter with Griphook was pleasant?"

"It was," Draco agreed, jabbing a pre-emptive elbow of warning into Theo's ribs as they settled themselves down at the table. Theo emitted a muted growl of annoyance, glaring at Draco, but said nothing. "Griphook is a reasonable enough guy," Draco added. "Wasn't a long trip."

"Excellent," Tom said, nodding firmly. "Good."

"And the money?" Lucius asked, prompting Theo to gesture outside the doors.

"In the safe," he explained. "Ready for Tom's distribution."

"Good," Lucius agreed, "and is it - "

"Lucius," Tom crooned, interrupting him. "Does it really do to dwell on money? Your son has returned safe and sound," he said, gesturing down the table to Draco, "which, as we know, is not as unremarkable an occurrence as one might hope." He smiled - a smile full of artful taunting, as only he knew how - and Draco tried, unsuccessfully, to return the gesture.

"Yes," Draco said, giving Tom a short, acknowledging nod. "I didn't have to take a bullet for the club this time, which is always something worth celebrating."

"Indeed," Tom permitted, tilting his head, "as is your devotion to the good of the club _itself_ , of course." He glanced up. "Isn't it, Lucius?"

"Yes," Lucius agreed, his pale brow furrowing slightly, as though he couldn't tell if he were being reprimanded. "Yes, of course."

"Tell me, Draco," Tom added, turning to face him, "with regard to the club - do you feel you have been giving the Death Eaters your full attention as of late?" Draco stiffened as Tom leaned into a purposeful pause. "I understand, of course," Tom remarked, making an elaborate show of conceding, "that you required some time for the necessary" - he waved a hand at him, flicking his wrist lazily as though to gesture in some way to Draco's overall _aura_ \- "healing," he finished. "But as I've heard it, you've been somewhat distant."

"Distant?" Draco asked, suppressing a stir of nerves. "How so?"

"Well, far be it from me to stoop to any unnecessary gossip, of course," Tom commented slowly, "but it seems you've been a bit absent as of late."

Draco felt Theo's eyes on him; _told you,_ he imagined Theo saying smugly.

"Ah," Draco said uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. "I was only - "

"No matter," Tom said, cutting him off and offering his sharp, omniscient smile. "I only hope, Draco, that your intent is still to prioritize the good of the club over whatever indiscretions you may entertain from time to time."

Under the table, Theo kicked him. _TOLD YOU,_ the motion shouted.

"Right," Draco said weakly. "Yes, of course."

"Well, excellent," Tom said, suddenly brightening. "As long as we're on the same page."

"Right," Draco repeated, quieter, feeling a corresponding shudder of uncertainty. "Same page."

Tom nodded indulgently at him, as though he might have crooked a finger under his chin from afar and stroked his head. "Good," he declared, smiling. "And now, to other matters."

"Other matters?" Theo asked, startled.

Tom turned his glassy smile to Theo. "Yes," he confirmed. "To new business ventures."

Theo frowned. "New business vent- "

"Though, before we do," Tom cut in smoothly, lowering his voice. "How is your father, Theo?"

Draco watched Theo's face pale slightly. "He's doing fine," Theo answered quietly. "Still bedridden" - _still an ass,_ Draco knew Theo wished to say, but thankfully didn't - "but the doctors say he's stable."

"Excellent," Tom determined knowingly, tapping the pad of his finger on the table. "You know how I like to keep tabs on these things," he murmured, tilting his head. "Don't you?"

"I do," Theo agreed quietly, and Draco closed a hand around the arm of his chair, suddenly feeling like they'd both been solidly put in their places; as though they'd been reminded who in the room possessed the advantage of information.

"Good," Tom said again, with the same abrupt brightness. "And now, onwards."

* * *

"I don't like this place," Gilderoy said loudly, nudging at Hermione as she glanced over his chart. "I'm no pureblood snob myself, but still - it's positively _crawling_ with Muggles."

"Muggles," Hermione repeated, shaking her head. _That was new,_ she sighed internally. "Tell me, where does that register on the insult scale?"

"It's not the worst thing," Gilderoy assured her kindly. "But certainly not ideal."

"Well, that's nice, I suppose," Hermione sighed audibly, replacing his chart at the foot of his bed. "How are you feeling, Gilderoy?"

"Besides the Muggle infestation? Oh, fine," he replied, shrugging. "Though it's hardly a nice trick you've played, you know," he scolded her. "Telling all the staff to pretend they don't know who I am."

"They know who you are, Gilderoy," Hermione reminded him. "You've been here for quite a while now, so I imagine - "

"No, no, they don't know who I _am_ ," Gilderoy insisted loudly. "I haven't gotten a single request for an autograph since I've arrived! And almost _no_ panties," he added, muttering to himself and crossing his arms over his chest. "Which is just absurd."

"Remind me, Gilderoy, why you're famous?" Hermione ventured, fighting a laugh as she patted his shoulder. "Was it that you were on a reality show?"

"What is that?" Gilderoy asked curiously, frowning at the term. "Reality show?"

"Oh," Hermione said, thinking. "It's, um - a show that's about real life. Well," she amended, shrugging, "I suppose _that_ bit's debatable, but the intent, at least, is to show real life, and people star on the shows as themselves - "

"Themselves?" Gilderoy demanded excitedly, sitting up straight. "So then _I_ could - "

"Well," Hermione said tentatively, "I mean, I'm not sure - "

"No, it's settled," Gilderoy said smugly. "We'll begin filming immediately." He smoothed his bedsheets, smiling vacantly into the distance. "Are they watching?" he murmured to her, his teeth pressed together as he posed.

Hermione hesitated, glancing around the empty room. "Er - "

"Dr Granger?" Padma asked, ducking her head inside the room. "A moment?"

"Ah, Dr Patil!" Gilderoy said merrily, gesturing to her. "Come in, come in! Everyone," he announced grandly, sweeping an arm around the room, "meet Dr Patil, who possesses the hospital's most marvelous tits - no offense," he added quickly to Hermione, "yours are fine too, if you're the 'small handful' type, which is really more common than you'd think - "

"What's he doing?" Padma murmured, looking around the room. "Who's he talking to?"

"Don't ask," Hermione said, sighing. "What do you need?"

"Kiss?" Gilderoy suggested hopefully, glancing between them.

"On second thought, maybe we should go outside," Hermione said, patting Gilderoy's shoulder and then gesturing out. "See you tomorrow, okay, Gilderoy?"

"Have someone brought in for makeup, would you?" Gilderoy called, shouting after her as the door was falling shut. "My forehead has a dastardly _tendency to shine_ \- "

"Wow _,_ " Padma remarked in a low voice, shaking her head as the door closed behind them. "You really have your hands full with that one."

"Could be worse," Hermione said. "He's stopped asking if he can 'sign my unmentionables,' so," she shrugged, "all in all, a win."

"I guess," Padma muttered. "Though, really, all I'm learning from this exercise in humanity is that people are stupid," she declared loudly, shaking her head. "I've got this old guy who refuses to stop smoking despite his, you know, _very casual_ bout of lung cancer," she said emphatically, rolling her eyes. "I've caught him trying to sneak them in about four times now, which is very helpful, you know," she added sarcastically, "for his heart problems, too."

"God, aren't our lives magical?" Hermione commented, chuckling a little.

"I mean, at least Nott hasn't mentioned my tits, so - "

"Nott?" Hermione asked, frowning at the familiar name. "That sounds famil- "

"Oi, what's this?" Dean asked, cutting her off as he strode up to them in the hallway. "Decided not to work today, ladies?"

"Yes, _that's_ it," Padma said, rolling her eyes. "We've abandoned our posts," she added, waving a hand around. " _To hell with it all_ , we said - "

"Aren't you scrubbing in this afternoon?" Hermione asked him. "Appendectomy?"

"Yes," Dean said, preening. "Classic."

"Well then get lost, Thomas," Padma sniffed. "I just wanted to talk to Hermione about Harry, anyway - "

"I _told_ you," Hermione sighed loudly. " _Nothing_ is going on with Harry, and we are _just friends -_ "

"Yes, yes, I've heard," Padma said, waving a hand again before tucking a loose twist of dark hair behind her ear. "I meant that I need you to talk him into going out with my sister."

"You have a sister?" Dean asked, startled.

"A twin, actually," Padma sniffed. "She's just like me, except worse. Don't tell Harry that," she added quickly, pointing accusingly at Hermione as though she'd already done it. "Tell him she's beautiful and brilliant. Which she is," she insisted. "She's an intellectual property attorney and she's working with a consultant from Knockturn, so she'll be staying with me for a week."

"Dear god, there are _two_ of you?" Dean exclaimed, looking mildly horrified. "Christ."

"So, what, you're passing her off to Harry because you don't want to babysit her?" Hermione asked, arching a brow. "I'm sure he'll _love_ that."

"Well, no, I mean Parvati's great," Padma assured her hastily. "It's just that we, um - we both went to boarding school, and we've always had separate friends, and - "

"And you don't want to hang out with her," Dean deduced flatly. "We get it."

"But not because she's not great," Padma reminded him quickly. "Only because I'm uninterested."

"Lovely," Hermione sighed.

"Plus, things are going well with Ron so far," Padma added. "And I'd like to take advantage of the sex and free drinks before I inevitably send him running for his sanity."

"That's generous of you," Dean remarked. "Very thoughtful."

" _So_ ," Padma continued, ignoring him to face Hermione, "would you mind asking him?"

"I'll ask," Hermione offered. "No promises, but I think he'll probably be up for it."

"Oh, good," Padma sighed deeply, bringing a hand up to her chest in relief. "I had no idea what I was going to do with her. If it helps," she added, brightening, "based on our school days, I'm told she gives great head."

"Ah, that _does_ help," Dean said, brandishing a finger at Hermione. "Be sure to mention it. We with the cocks, you know," he explained, gesturing to himself, "we like to know these things."

"Well, to be clear, she's not better than me at it," Padma said indignantly. "I mean," she amended, "I don't have solid evidence of that, but I'm just saying - "

"Jesus, Patil, do you need a psych consult?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "This sibling shit is fucking Freudian."

"Oh, shove it," Padma grumbled. "Get to your damn appendectomy, would you?"

"Jealous?" Dean asked, smirking.

" _Please_ ," Padma retorted. "You're basically just scooping it out and stitching it up. A baboon could do it."

"You're jealous," Dean determined decisively, pretending to toss his hair over his shoulder before aiming himself in the direction of the OR. "And it looks _shit_ on you, Patil," he added, as Padma stuck her tongue out at him.

"Good luck," Hermione called after him. "Don't be a baboon."

"Thanks," Dean yelled over his shoulder, lifting a clipboard in acknowledgment. "Will try to remember that."

"God, I wish I could stab him just to scrub in on his surgery," Padma lamented, sighing after him, and Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

"You have a problem," she informed her.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Padma replied, shrugging. "I've heard. Hey," she added, remembering, "so can you get Harry's schedule?"

"Yep," Hermione agreed. "I think he's off on Friday."

"Perfect," Padma exhaled in relief. "Perfect, perfect."

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding, before glancing down to check her watch.

She supposed it was best, really, that Harry would have some entertainment. He hadn't tried anything with her since Rosmerta's - they _were_ just friends, after all, even though alcohol could sometimes blur the line - but still, she was relieved that offering up Padma's apparently inferior twin sister would still serve as a distraction. It did, at least, lessen the guilt she felt whenever Harry mentioned the Death Eaters, or his particular suspicions about Draco.

Who, she thrillingly recalled, she might actually have time for this evening.

"What are you smiling about?" Padma demanded, staring at her. "You look like you're having a stroke."

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing," she said innocently, and then, recalling she'd managed to wear her good underwear today, she smiled again. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Draco walked out of the boardroom and checked his phone; nothing yet, he noted, but still. It had been a few days and he was getting antsy. He had to guess that she was, too.

"Hey," Theo said, nudging him. "Look."

Draco glanced up, catching a familiar brunette talking to Goyle from just inside the clubhouse doors. "Oh," he said, watching the stocky Death Eater shift uneasily. "Susan."

"Looks tense," Theo murmured. "Should we - "

Draco glanced over his shoulder as the boardroom door fell shut. "Yeah," he agreed, gesturing. "Come on."

"Greg, please," she was pleading quietly as they approached, "this isn't about Cormac, I swear - "

"Money, then?" Greg asked, shaking his head at her. "I told you, I'm not enabling that shit anymore."

"It's not about - " She cut off, looking around sharply. "I've made it very clear," Susan hissed, "that I don't _do_ _that_ anymore - "

"Something wrong, Bones?" Theo asked, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Draco stepped next to Goyle, nudging him.

"All good?" Draco murmured, and Greg nodded stiffly.

"Yeah," he muttered. "She was just leaving."

"No I wasn't," Susan snapped, sighing with frustration. "I told you, I need help. From _any_ of you," she added, pointedly looking up to glance between Draco and Theo. "I know you guys do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Theo asked, frowning. "You need a bike fixed?" he joked, though the severity of her expression said otherwise.

"No, I - " she hesitated. "It's - it's my aunt. She's been getting threats - _serious_ ones, too - "

"You mentioned that, didn't you?" Draco asked, glancing up at Theo. "Didn't you say Potter came by asking questions?"

"Yeah, he did," Greg supplied quietly. "I'd heard," he added, pausing his surliness to glance at Susan. "I just don't know what you want us to do about it."

Susan let out a slow exhale, looking disappointed. "Nothing, I guess," she murmured. "It's just that I'm worried, you know - and she's really the only family I've got, and I let her down for so many years - "

She glanced at her feet, pressing her lips together tightly; Greg stepped forward and Theo nudged her towards him, allowing the other man to wrap her in a loose embrace.

"Listen, we can keep an eye out," Draco assured her, patting Greg's shoulder. "We can look into it for you, if you want, I just can't - "

"Draco," Lucius called sharply, stepping out from the boardroom to gesture to him. "Come here."

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry," he murmured. "One sec." Theo nodded, frowning after him, and Draco turned, heading back to his father.

"Yes?" Draco drawled, raising one brow as he headed towards his father. "You barked, Father?"

What's this?" Lucius sniffed suspiciously, gesturing to Susan. "What's that bitch doing back here?"

Draco shrugged. "You know her aunt?" he asked. "Judge Bones?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Is this about the Scabior threat?"

"Evidently," Draco said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. "She's just worried about her aunt, Dad, that's all."

Lucius did not look convinced. "Not sure what made her feel like she could come _here_ ," he muttered. "She's not an old lady anymore - "

"Well, they're obviously still friends," Draco returned, gesturing to them. "Or something like it," he muttered uneasily, "but still. Is it really such a big deal?"

"Draco," Lucius said sharply. "Unless you've forgotten, the Manor has been host to some activities that should _remain within the club_ ," he said emphatically, shaking his head. "She's not privy to club business."

"Look, she's not here to dig up any shit," Draco assured him. "She just wanted a favor, okay? She'll be gone soon - "

"Get her out _now_ ," Lucius growled. "Tom hasn't seen her yet, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fine," Draco sighed, reaching into his pocket for his phone as he felt it vibrate. "I'm heading out, anyway."

Lucius shrugged, as if this were less important. "Just get her out," he muttered, slipping back into the boardroom as Draco glanced at his screen.

 _ **I'll be home in about half an hour**_ _,_ Hermione had said, and he smiled.

 _ **Hungry?**_ he asked.

 _ **No time**_ _,_ she said back. _**Dead tired. Sex and sleep only. Don't even bother talking to me.**_

 _ **Fuck, you're perfect**_ _,_ he typed back, and then glanced up, walking over to where Susan and Greg were still talking to Theo.

"All good?" Theo asked, and Draco motioned with his chin to Susan, rolling his eyes.

"We have to head out," he said, glancing apologetically at her. "Sorry."

She sighed. "I haven't forgotten," she said grimly. "You Death Eaters with all your secrets. I don't miss 'em," she sighed, shaking her head at Greg. "Life's a lot easier when you can just, you know - "

"Sell condos for a living?" Greg said stiffly. "Yeah, figures."

"Greg," she murmured warningly, and then shook her head, turning to Draco. "Thanks for offering to look into it," she told him. "I know if you think it's worth looking into, Tom will agree."

Draco nodded. "No promises, obviously," he cautioned, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. "But still." She turned towards the door before pausing. "Are you guys coming to Astoria's?"

"For what?" Theo asked. "Is she having something?"

"Yeah, Daph's in town," Susan replied. "I think it's her birthday."

"Ah, fucking Daphne Greengrass," Theo said, shaking his head. "Talk about a fucking ghost. You heading there?" he asked Susan.

"Yeah, I promised Astoria I'd stop by," Susan said. "I assumed Draco would be going," she added, glancing meaningfully at him.

"Nope," Draco replied curtly, thinking of Hermione in the shower and feeling his mouth water. "I have other business to attend to."

"The same business as last week?" Theo asked skeptically.

"Business as usual," Draco returned, smirking, and Susan shrugged.

"Well, if you change your mind," she said. "Supposed to be wild."

"Astoria's soirees always are," Draco agreed. "I'm sure Theo's up for it."

"Yeah, fuck it, I'm in," Theo agreed. "Need a ride?"

Susan jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I've got my car in the lot," she said. "But I'll see you there." She looked up, tilting her head. "Greg?"

"No," he said stiffly, and she nodded.

"Another time," she said softly, and then turned, nodding once at Draco before disappearing through the door.

"Well, do me a favor and don't tell me what the fuck _that_ was about," Theo declared, nodding at Greg. "You out?" he asked Draco. "I have to grab something from Mulciber before I go," he remembered, "but you go ahead."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, nodding to him. "Have fun at Astoria's. Say hi to Daphne," he added, and Theo turned around, nodding his agreement as he jogged backwards towards Darian.

Draco got on his bike and pointed himself in Granger's direction; it wasn't particularly late - in _his_ estimation, anyway - but still, the roads were fairly open. He'd be there soon, which was ideal. It had already been longer than he would have liked, if he'd had his choice; he supposed he should be grateful for that. At least her schedule allowed him to maintain some semblance of cool.

He stopped at a red light and leaned onto his handlebars, inhaling the cool air as it whipped around his shoulders. It was a fairly warm night, all things considered, and a quiet one; he glanced around, taking in the comfortingly familiar view of Diagon's main drag, before his gaze snagged on a dark vehicle two lanes over that came to a quiet stop behind him.

Draco frowned, not recognizing the plates and not able to see the driver; _probably nothing,_ he thought, trying to shake the paranoia as the light turned green, but he took a left turn instead of a right, just testing it out.

Within a matter of blocks, the car had turned behind him. Draco swallowed uneasily, taking another unexpected right turn.

The car followed.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, abruptly changing directions.

There was no fucking way he was going to Granger's house now. He took the few streets to Astoria's apartment and parked his bike outside, catching Theo as he pulled into the driveway.

"Hey," Theo said, frowning. "I thought you were - "

"Changed my mind," Draco said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. There was a line of cars down the block, none of which looked like the one that had been following him.

"You okay?" Theo asked, looking curiously at him, and Draco nodded.

"Yeah, fine," he muttered, pulling out his phone.

 _ **I'll be late**_ _,_ he typed. _**I'm sorry.**_

* * *

Hermione looked up from her phone and frowned, grabbing her chopped salad from the fridge and sighing as she fell against the couch. The lettuce was wilted and she wasn't particularly excited about it, but hey, at least it was food. She took a bite, trying not to sulk, as her phone went off again. She glanced over.

 _ **Lock your door, okay?**_

She blinked, choking on a garbanzo bean. _Uh -_

 _ **What?**_ she typed.

 _ **Just do it**_ _,_ he responded. _**I'll try to be there soon.**_

She swallowed. _**Okay**_ _,_ she responded, and stood, glancing out her window before turning the deadbolt on her door.

Nothing unusual, she decided; the street was as unoccupied as ever.

 _ **Is everything okay?**_ she asked.

She watched her phone, waiting, but no response came. She pushed her salad away, frowning at it.

Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.

* * *

 **a/n:** lol sorry about this ending but Happy New Year! Here's to a happy and healthy 2017. This chapter is dedicated to Jade Presley!

 _Apologies to those who read my other WIPs who have heard this schpeal already, but for those who haven't,_ _ **Alpha**_ _, my graphic novel collaboration with Little Chmura, is now available on Amazon. For more information on the story, you can check it out at enter-alpha dot com (include the dash). Thanks for reading, and we appreciate the support!_


	9. Nothing Can Stop Us Now

**Chapter 9: Nothing Can Stop Us Now**

"What's your deal?" Theo asked, his eyes narrowing as Draco glanced a second time over his shoulder, looking for sign of the vehicle that had been following him. "You're being twitchier than usual."

Draco shifted uneasily, tucking his phone back in his pocket. "I thought," he began, pausing briefly to wonder if he were going insane, "I thought I saw someone - "

"Draco!" Astoria cried shrilly from her balcony overhead, sending some of her drink spilling over the edge in her enthusiasm. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, licking the side of her red cup. "Oops - "

"I thought you weren't coming?" Susan called down, appearing beside Astoria and jostling her drink a second time, prompting her to growl in frustration and knock it back, making a face as she swallowed.

"I'm not," Draco said under his breath, shaking his head - _hard to believe this had ever been appealing at one point,_ he thought morosely, feeling a vague sense of superiority - and Theo nudged him.

"You were saying?" Theo prompted, gesturing. "You thought you saw . . . ?"

Draco frowned. "I thought," he began again, "that while I was driving here - "

"Draco!" Astoria called a second time, gratuitously propping her bared cleavage against the ledge of the balcony. "Fucking _come inside - "_

"What the fuck are you even doing?" he called up to her, squinting past her through the sliding glass door. "It sounds like fucking chaos up there."

"It's a _party_ , stupid!" she shouted back gleefully.

"That it is," confirmed a resigned voice behind them, prompting Theo and Draco to turn. "And how truly unfortunate that it is for me."

"Daph!" Astoria squealed, waving down at her sister. "Daph, you're here!"

"I am," Daphne called back, her heels tapping against the sidewalk as she came to stand beside Draco and Theo. "I thought you promised me _small_ and _intimate_ , Astoria - "

"Oh, things will get intimate," Astoria assured her smugly, turning as someone nudged a shot glass into her hand. "Hold on, I'm coming down right now," she yelled, throwing the shot back and biting down on a lime before disappearing from sight.

"Was it the dead dad that did it, do you think?" Daphne murmured disapprovingly, and Draco chuckled, shaking his head. "Or, _perhaps_ ," Daphne mused delicately, giving Draco a sharp jab to the rib, "could it have been the miscreant ex-boyfriend?"

"Miscreant?" Draco echoed vacantly, shoving her hand away. "When did Astoria fuck Theo?"

"Mm," Daphne agreed, smiling as she shook her head. "Good one."

"Yes, fucking _hilarious_ ," Theo muttered, backhanding Draco in the chest before reaching for Daphne. "Happy birthday, Greengrass," he said loudly, throwing an arm over her shoulder. "Been missing Diagon since you've been gone?"

"Not at all," Daphne said, making a face and swatting at Theo as he tugged playfully at her belt loop. "I don't miss any of you."

" _When_ ," Theo erupted dramatically, "will you stop injuring me like this?" He shook his head, admonishing her. "It's unconscionable, Daph. You're _unconscionable_ \- "

" _You're_ a menace," she retorted, and he shrugged.

"Not sure I see how that's relevant," Theo sniffed, "but fine."

"As you can see," Draco said, gesturing, "Theo's the same" - Daphne rolled her eyes, smiling fondly at Theo as he offered her an irreverent, coquettish bow - "but I heard _you_ started your own business," Draco continued, nodding at her. "Impressive, Greengrass," he commented, and she shrugged.

"Yeah - I mean, I got a spot at a nice salon and I've gotten some regulars, so it's going fine," Daphne replied, waving her hand dismissively. "Certainly better than being a waitress, I'll tell you that much - "

"And to think you could have done neither and just stayed here," Theo interrupted, waving his hand at the ambiance of booze and rowdy twenty-somethings upstairs, "letting the club take care of you and living off your inheritance - "

"Better that Astoria has it," Daphne sighed, shaking her head. "She clearly needs it," she added, gesturing to the balcony where Astoria had been. "She's, um" - she paused, biting her tongue - " _slightly_ less in a hurry to be on her own, I think."

"You mean less in a hurry to _get away_ ," Theo corrected playfully, tapping Daphne's arm. "A little less ashamed of her roots, maybe?"

"I'm not ashamed," Daphne protested, drawing her arm back as though he'd stung her and wrapping her fingers around the spot where Draco knew she'd once had a tattoo indicating her allegiance to the club; a snake and a rose, intertwined and delicately wrapped around her upper arm.

"You still have it?" Draco asked, glancing down, and Daphne glared defiantly at him before forcefully removing her arm from the sleeve of her jacket, brandishing the tattoo at him.

"I'm still my father's daughter, Draco," she informed him quietly, her fingers tight against the ink on her arm. "I just want something fucking _different_ for my own life. Something," she added vigorously, drawing herself up and yanking her sleeve back over her shoulder, "other than ending up with a bullet to the - "

"Daph!" Astoria squealed, suddenly bursting from the stairwell and waltzing unsteadily towards them. "Nothing can stop us now," she proclaimed, taking a swig from a handle of Patrón and swallowing before throwing herself into Daphne's arms. "I'm _so happy -_ "

"Oof, yes," Daphne agreed stiffly, though she smiled as she leaned into her sister's hug. "I see that - "

"And I see that nobody is happy to see _me_ ," Theo sighed dramatically, "but such is life, I suppose," he determined, inviting himself to their huddled embrace and wrapping his arms around both women.

"Well, this is nice," Draco ruled, taking a firm step back, "but I'm late, so - "

"Oh no, no, _no_ ," Astoria said instantly, her eyes glassy as she stumbled towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and giggling as he caught her, holding her upright. "No," she added again, laughing fragrant tequila vapors into his face and then clumsily attaching her mouth to his.

" _Mmgeoiwuf_ ," Draco forced out grimly against her lips, taking hold of her shoulders and gently setting her upright, pushing her away from him. "Astoria, _stop_ \- "

"God, it's like a horrible flashback to every party we've been to since she turned eighteen," Theo muttered, and Daphne lamented her agreement, shaking her head in resignation just as a Diagon police car pulled onto the street.

"Oh, _fuck,_ " Astoria sighed, pouting as she hid the handle of tequila behind her back and leaned against Draco's chest. "There's like," she leaned in, whispering loudly, "a _shit ton_ of cocaine upstairs - "

Daphne groaned. " _Astoria_ \- "

"Fucking Christ," Draco cursed under his breath, shoving her into Theo's arms. "I'll take care of this," he muttered, heading for the vehicle as the driver stepped out. _Shit,_ he sighed in exasperation, pausing mid-progress as he caught sight of the messy head of dark hair that disembarked from the driver's side.

"Hey," Potter called neutrally, gesturing to the apartment with his chin. "Got a call about a noise complaint."

"Yeah, figures," Draco grumbled, turning to nod over his shoulder at Theo. "Shut it down," he barked and Theo tossed him a haughtily knowing smirk, nodding, before turning Astoria to lead her inside. "Sorry," Draco added insincerely, turning back to Potter. "Didn't realize your promotion meant Slughorn's got you doing noise complaints now," he added pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Potter shrugged ambivalently. "Slow night," he explained, glancing warily at where Astoria wobbled before taking her first step up the stairs. "She okay?" he asked, gesturing, and Draco turned to see Daphne remove her jacket, settling it over Astoria's shoulders before letting Theo take her upstairs.

"She's fine," Draco said tightly, shifting to block Potter's view. "A little carried away, but, you know." He shrugged. "Youth."

"Indeed," Potter said skeptically, glancing over Draco's shoulder. "Are you sure - "

"Sorry, Officer," Daphne interrupted, appearing breathlessly on Draco's right. "My sister just wanted to throw me a birthday party, but I suppose it got a little out of hand."

Draco watched with amusement as Potter's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening just slightly as he looked at her. "Hi," he managed, and then coughed, suddenly straightening. "I mean, yeah," he said smoothly, "I understand, I just wanted to make sure that - "

"We'll keep it down," Daphne assured him quickly, nudging Draco. "Won't we?"

" _You_ can," Draco muttered to her. "I have places to be, Greengrass."

"Fine, _I_ can, then," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "Party's in good hands, Officer," she added, aiming her unfailingly pretty smile - _the same smile as Astoria's_ , Draco thought, _only slightly more reserved,_ and considerably more reassuring than deviant - at him and offering her hand. "I'm Daphne, by the way," she said. "I'm surprised, actually, that I don't know you," she murmured, gazing intently at Potter's face.

Potter's line of sight snagged momentarily on the tattoo on her arm before returning to meet Daphne's eye. "Harry," he supplied without thought, and then shook his head quickly, stammering in retreat. "I mean - _Potter,_ " he clarified, clearing his throat. "Officer Potter."

"I think you mean _Deputy Police Chief_ Potter, actually," Draco reminded him wickedly, grinning as Potter nodded his vacant agreement, his eyes still fixed on Daphne's face.

"New around here, then?" Daphne asked Potter, ignoring Draco and tucking a dark curl behind her ear. "Normally any cop that would show up for this" - she waved a hand at the party upstairs - "would have sat behind me in homeroom at one point."

"She means Weasley," Draco supplied for Potter's benefit, and Daphne glanced admonishingly at him, seeming to remember he existed.

"Don't start," she warned, and Draco made a face.

"I'm, um, not from here," Potter explained, glossing over the mention of his partner and appearing to have regained some semblance of his ability to function. "I transferred from Knockturn PD - "

"Oh, I live there now," Daphne remarked casually, radiating loveliness as she let her hair slip from her bare shoulder; Draco frowned, wondering if she were flirting. "In Knockturn, I mean."

"Ah," Potter said, looking slightly deflated to learn she did not live in Diagon; Daphne smiled weakly, appearing to momentarily share his lament.

Draco glanced amusedly between them.

"So anyway," he said loudly, and Potter looked up, nodding.

"Right. Well," he said stiffly, glancing up as the door to Astoria's balcony slid shut, the sounds of music and laughter gradually dying down and becoming relatively contained within the apartment, "I guess I should let you get back to the party. Just, uh - keep it down," he suggested, and Daphne nodded.

"Thanks," she said - a little listlessly, as though she were disappointed - before turning to give Draco's arm a squeeze. "And I'll see _you_ \- "

"When I see you," Draco agreed, throwing an arm around her and planting an affectionate kiss at the top of her head. "Have fun."

"I will," she assured him with a teasing smile, giving Potter a last regretful flutter of her fingers before turning to go inside.

"Oh," Potter said abruptly, stepping towards her and clearing his throat. "Um, Daphne - I just wanted to - "

"Yes, Officer?" she prompted, pausing her progress and pivoting to meet his eye.

Potter paused apprehensively. "Happy birthday," he offered, and a slow smile spread across her lips.

"Thanks, Harry," she murmured, ducking her head and striding quickly towards the door.

"Mind the neighbors," Potter muttered helplessly after her, half-whispering as she went; Draco watched with amusement as Potter's eyes seemed to linger a second time on the snake that twined around Daphne's upper arm, his eyes narrowing in a show of internal conflict.

"Her father," Draco supplied, quietly entertained, and Potter blinked, his attention brought back to their conversation.

"What?" Potter asked dazedly.

"Her father," Draco repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "He was a Death Eater. You know," Draco added, smirking. "A _mechanic,_ like me."

"I see," Potter said slowly, and frowned. "He _was_ , you said?"

"He was killed," Draco supplied. "When we were in high school."

"Killed," Potter repeated, arching a brow. "By a rogue wrench, I assume?" he ventured wryly. "Or a drive socket, maybe," he continued to postulate facetiously, "or some other relevant occupational hazard?"

"Something like that," Draco agreed, smugly pleased to see they understood each other. "My point is," he continued, gesturing over his shoulder to where Daphne had disappeared, "she's family."

At that, Potter seemed to barely contain a scoff. "Right," he ruled flatly. "And her sister, then?"

Draco's smirk tightened. "A hijink," he muttered, and Potter chuckled.

"You know, I'd have pegged you for having different taste, Malfoy," Potter commented offhandedly, gesturing abstractly to where Astoria had drunkenly stumbled back inside. "I'd have guessed you'd pursue something more, I don't know - "

"Multi-faceted?" Draco supplied, Hermione's face appearing in his mind as Potter offered him an indifferent shrug of confirmation. "Yeah, oddly enough, you're not wrong," Draco muttered, suddenly regaining the apprehension he'd had for Hermione's safety that had prompted him to stop there in the first place. "Anyway," he said briskly, feeling for his phone in his pocket, "if there's nothing else - "

"You look troubled, Malfoy," Potter interrupted, eyeing him carefully. "Something happen up at the shop?"

"Why?" Draco retorted, a little too sharply. " _Expecting_ trouble, Potter?"

"I'm fairly positive you'll take this the wrong way, but yes, I am," Potter replied crisply, tilting his head and taking on his signature earnestness. "I remain pretty damn confident that your alarm system was tampered with," he began, "and considering the gravity of Greyback's threat against Riddle, the fact that nothing worse has happened is surprising." He paused, grimacing at his phrasing. "It's _suspicious_ , really, is what it is - "

"We've got it handled," Draco cut in smoothly. "It's nothing we can't take care of."

"Listen, I really do hope that's true," Potter remarked emphatically. "This may come as a surprise to you," he added, "but I don't actually love being at Riddle's beck and call."

"Certainly doesn't seem that way," Draco countered, grimacing. "It _seems_ like you've been hanging around the Death Eaters quite a bit, in fact."

Potter shrugged. "I have my orders," he replied, unfazed - and with a stiff air of disapproval that made Draco wonder once again whether Slughorn's assertion of _pliability_ really held any weight - before turning to head back towards his car.

Draco pulled his phone out of his pocket - _**Is everything okay?**_ he read, and immediately winced, feeling wildly inconsiderate - before taking another slow, sweeping glance around Astoria's street.

"Hey," Draco called after Potter reluctantly, and Potter looked up, "you didn't happen to see a sedan loitering around on your way here, did you? Black or dark grey, maybe," Draco guessed, thinking, "and out of state plates?"

Potter frowned in thought, pausing beside his open car door. "No," he returned with a shake of his head, his expression softening to a roguish grin. "Why?" Potter prompted, with what Draco considered to be a gratuitous - and unwarranted - brush of mock curiosity. "Is that one of the many things you've got _handled_ , Malfoy?"

Draco grimaced. "Yes," he gritted out, and Potter chuckled knowingly, falling into his seat and turning the key in the ignition.

"Be careful out there," Potter called out the car door, slamming it shut and pausing to glance in his rearview mirror before pulling back into the road.

"Always," Draco called back, waving, before muttering "fucker" under his breath and glancing back down at his phone.

 _ **I'm sorry,**_ he typed. _**Got caught up in some stupid shit. Be there in 10.**_

"Nothing can stop us now," he sighed, throwing a leg over his bike and heading straight for her.

* * *

Hermione wanted to say she hadn't been waiting up to hear from him - and she'd certainly never openly admit that she had - but when she heard the sound of his bike pulling up behind her apartment building, she found she hadn't quite resigned herself to the lie.

"You're here," she sighed, pulling him inside when he appeared at her door. "What happened?"

He hesitated before speaking, but she could smell tequila and cigarette smoke on him as he wrapped his arms around her; she leaned away, frowning, but he pulled her closer, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her. "I didn't mean to worry you."

She cleared her throat. "I just," she began, grimacing as he eyed her, "I know you're given to secrecy, but telling me to lock my door and then not answering - "

"I know," he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I know. I should have - " he hesitated. "I _shouldn't_ have - "

He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said again, wilting a little in resignation. "I just wanted to make sure nothing happened."

She frowned, wondering what sort of _something_ he might have worried was on the table before pushing the thought out of her mind, deciding it was better not to ask.

"You're okay, though," she said, closing her eyes and disentangling herself from him - remembering that this was _only about sex_ and he was _bad for her_ and _trust me, you don't want to know_ \- before letting her breath catch in her throat, feeling his hands slip down her arms to flutter comfortingly against her fingers. "It's late," she told him, watching the dim lighting cast itself around him, the hazy glow that glinted from the strands of his hair before melting into the black leather on his shoulders. "And I - I should go to bed, I think - "

His gaze dropped in disappointment but he nodded, slowly exhaling. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, lightly squeezing the tips of her fingers before taking a forceful step back. _I'll go,_ his feet clearly said, but his face - his eyes - pleaded otherwise.

"It's late," she said again, somehow even less convincingly this time. "I should really sleep."

"You should," he agreed, not moving. "That would be the smart thing to do. Though," he qualified, his lips quirking up in a breathtakingly _Draco-esque_ smirk, "I suppose _you're_ the smart one here, Doc."

She watched the shape of his lips as he held his breath; watched the line of his forearm as he toyed anxiously with his fingers; watched him guardedly prevent himself from reaching for her, time suspended as he waited -

 _Fuck it,_ she sighed.

"I'm an idiot," she informed him regrettably, taking one step, and then another. "I'm the dumbest girl in school," she muttered, only pausing as her chest met his.

"What a fucking shame," he murmured, his eyes flashing as she reached him. "Guess I had you pegged all wrong," he added, running his hand up her arm to take hold of the back of her neck, nudging her chin to the side. "I foolishly thought you were brilliant," he whispered against her throat, pressing his lips to her jaw.

She swallowed, letting him lead her backwards to position her against the wall. "I know _some_ things," she clarified, her heart pounding as he tore her thin tank top over her head, lowering his lips to the lace of her bra. "Like, for example," she began unsteadily, fighting a moan as his fingers slipped to the curve of her thighs, "did you know that the male attraction to breasts is a result of evolution?"

"I didn't," he mused, peeling her bra back to scrape his teeth over her nipple and sliding her pants down her legs, letting them drop against the floor. "Are you saying I'm evolved, then?"

"Well," she said, fumbling with the button of his jeans - and making a point to look away as he removed his gun from his waistband, placing it on the table - to nudge them down, "I'm - not saying _that,_ exactly - only that" - she broke off as he slid a finger into her, slowly teasing the wetness from her core - "it's particularly _human_ , I mean, to want to have sex face to face, rather than - "

She gasped as he spun her, pressing her breasts against the wall and putting pressure on her hips, moving her hair to speak into her ear. "Rather than _this_ ," he suggested, nudging her knees apart and sliding a finger in from behind, "which is animalistic?"

She swallowed a whimper, feeling his cock press against the thin fabric of her underwear. "Carnal," she agreed, gasping again as he drew her panties down her legs, helping her kick them to the side before positioning himself against her. "It's - it's more - "

She let her head fall back against his chest as he thrust in deeply, pinning her wrists against the wall. "More, um," she whispered, "what was I - "

"Savage," he supplied, giving her another firm thrust before moving her hips, shifting her to the side and bending her forward to brace against the table as he brought his hand to her clit. "More" - he hissed through his teeth as she arched her back, angling herself lower - " _barbaric_ , maybe?"

"Something like that," she agreed, letting a moan slip between her lips. "It's - it's primitive," she panted, crying out as he reached up to take her nipple between his fingers, trying desperately to remember words. "Animals - are designed to" - she sucked in a breath, losing her train of thought and then regaining it as she marinated briefly on the concept of herself, Intellectual Medical Professional, being _fucked mercilessly_ from behind _,_ considering how _blissfully crude_ it all was - "to do it this way, but - "

He picked up his pace, his hand motioning faster against her clit; she felt the pressure build inside her, twisting and sprinting, before holding his hand still against her, feeling herself convulse to aching, mindless satisfaction.

"What was I saying?" she asked vacantly, her heart still pounding. He laughed breathlessly, pulling her up to kiss the top of her spine before giving her ass a slap and pulling out.

"Bedroom, then," he whispered in her ear, "so I can watch your face while I fuck you" - he paused, sucking lightly behind her jaw - "like a _civilized person_ \- "

She turned to kiss him, laughing, and he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his hips and carrying her into her bedroom before depositing her back against her bed.

"What else," he asked greedily, divesting himself of his jeans and boxers before parting her legs, positioning himself between them. "What else can you teach me?"

She closed her eyes, letting him bend to kiss her stomach. "Freud," she began, reaching down to take a fistful of his pale blond hair, "said there were two types of female orgasms - "

"Two," Draco muttered, spreading her legs wide and nudging his tip against her. "Really?"

Hermione let out a moan as he slid inside her again. "It's - been disproven," she choked out, letting him yank her hips up to fill her, "but - "

"What do you think, Doc?" he asked, driving her to madness as he circled her clit with his thumb. "How many?"

"I think," she said, biting her lip as he bent to take her nipple in his mouth, "there's normal sex, and then" - she sighed as he made his way up, sucking lightly on her collarbone before kissing her neck - "there's sex with _you_ , so" - he yanked her hands over her head, holding them still as she arched her hips up and he drove into her - "so - so that's - "

They both abandoned the thought as she came closer to a second orgasm, his abs starting to gleam with effort; she stared at him, running her hands against the crevices of his chest and stomach in mild wonderment as he stared back, locking eyes with her as she came without warning and his jaw immediately went slack, accommodating the breathless escape of _Hermione_ between his lips.

He collapsed gently against her, kissing her cheek, her nose, her lips; his kiss slowed to a gentle pulsing, a reassuring lull of something she might have guessed was affection if she hadn't known any better; if she hadn't heard _trust me, you don't want to know_ ringing in the vacancy of her mind.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in her ear, and she shifted to look at him.

"For?" she asked, running her fingers along the line of his jaw.

He pressed a kiss to her palm. "Everything," he said.

She hesitated; _trust me, you don't want to know -_

"You don't have to be sorry," she whispered. "It's just sex, right?"

He spread his fingers over her hips, making a point of possessing her before hungrily pressing his lips to hers again, kissing her with a desperation she felt for a moment that she inexplicably understood.

"Yeah," he said when they'd broken apart, a hazy breath's distance between them. "Yeah. Just sex."

It wasn't until she woke up in his arms that she realized the thing they had felt - that had passed between them, skipping from his pulse to hers - had been something like fear.

 _Something bleaker than fear,_ she thought with a pang.

Something like _don't let go,_ and something like _stay stay stay -_

She watched her reflection in her bathroom mirror, felt her heart thud when he materialized behind her to press a kiss to her neck, his hair disheveled from sleep and his voice throaty and rough as he whispered _good morning, Doc,_ smoothing his hands over her shoulders. She watched him leave and thought again that it must be something very much like _please don't go,_ and very much like _stay stay stay,_ and something like -

Something like -

 _Don't say it,_ she thought to herself, closing her eyes and forcing it - brusquely - out of her mind.

 _Trust me,_ she told herself, gritting her teeth as she stared at her reflection.

 _You don't want to know._

* * *

 **a/n:** Having a rough go of it lately; please be gentle. Happy (almost) birthday Jade Presley - this one's for you!


	10. Chekhov's Gun

_**TW:**_ _mention of character death._

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Chekhov's Gun**

"You know, green really isn't the most flattering color for you," Gilderoy commented with a sigh, frowning at her as she studied his chart. "I think a nice lilac would really bring out your eyes, don't you?"

"Gilderoy, as I've said," Hermione sighed, tapping her nails against the clipboard, "I _really_ cannot dress any differently than this."

"It's just such a waste!" Gilderoy crowed, flailing as he gestured to her. "I realize in the past I've been unfairly dismissive of the" - he paused, treading hesitantly - " _diminutive scale_ , shall we say, of your northern mountains - "

"Gilderoy, I don't understand why I have to keep saying this, but you really must stop talking about my breasts," Hermione reminded him firmly just as Padma opened the door, peeking her head inside.

"Dr Granger, if you have a moment?" she called, glancing over. "Oh, good afternoon, Gilderoy," she added, smiling, though she carefully crossed her arms over her chest and he, in a surprising twist, only nodded respectfully, toasting her with his half-eaten cup of strawberry jello.

"You need something, Dr Patil?" Hermione asked, replacing Gilderoy's chart at the foot of his bed and meeting Padma at the door. "What's up?"

"Can you check on one of my patients for me?" Padma asked, giving her a quiet, desperate look of pleading. "The smoker, you know, with the heart problems - "

"Right," Hermione said, recalling him and nodding. "Anything you want me to look for?"

"No, just checking in," Padma replied. "Parvati apparently is having some sort of crisis," she muttered unhappily by way of explanation, "and I just need to run out and take care of something - and I wouldn't ask," she sighed, which Hermione knew was almost certainly true, considering how much more she loved her job than anything else in her life, "but my sister's sort of a" - she paused, glancing up at Gilderoy and lowering her voice - " _see you next Tuesday,_ if you know what I mean, so - "

"It's not a problem," Hermione said quickly. "I'm about done here, anyway, so I'll head down the hall now."

Padma sighed in obvious relief. " _Thank you,_ " she said, clasping her hands in gratitude. "Shouldn't be anything too important - "

"You're good," Hermione assured her. "I'm the best in my year, after all," she added, nudging her and smiling, and Padma made a face, sticking out her tongue before waving to Gilderoy and making a quick exit. Hermione followed shortly after, bidding Gilderoy farewell - "think about it, Dr Granger," he shouted, "a new color palette can do wonders for the complexion! Think of the _beautiful now_!" - and slipping out the door, heading swiftly down the hall.

Hermione entered the room and was surprised to find that Padma's patient was the only occupant; it was a small hospital, of course, and not excessively plagued by overcrowding, but it was still rare to come across a room that was not shared by at least one other bedmate. The man in the bed was certainly advanced in age; either in his fifties or sixties, though he looked considerably worse, the black ink that covered his skin seeming to have faded and yawned loosely as he'd aged, draping over him with time.

 _Ink,_ she thought, unwillingly let her eyes travel to his wrist and finding what she'd suspected; a snake and a skull. She shut the door gently behind her and wandered to his chart, trying not to stare.

"Scared?" he asked gruffly, as she made a point to avert her eyes. _Nott, Theodore Sr,_ she read on the clipboard, and suddenly remembered the man in the pub who had been with Draco; a younger, more beguiling, and slenderer version of the man in the hospital bed before her. _Theo Nott,_ she heard Harry say, _upper echelon in the club as far as I can tell -_

"No," she supplied unhelpfully, shaking off the sharpness of the realization. "I'm so sorry, Mr Nott, I was just a bit distracted - "

"Where's Dr Patil?" he asked gruffly, shifting in the bed. "Who're you?"

"I'm Dr Granger," Hermione offered, kicking herself for abandoning her bedside manner in the midst of her surprise. "Dr Patil asked if I wouldn't mind checking on you today, as she had a family emergency."

"She did, did she," Nott grunted, shaking his head. "Well, good for her, then. Some people's fucking family can't seem to make the trip any more than they have to," he added, muttering to himself.

Hermione cleared her throat, carefully avoiding the statement. "Well," she said, treading delicately, "Mr Nott, have you been having any pr- "

"I don't suppose you can be convinced to let an old man have a smoke, can you?" Nott interrupted, punctuating the statement with an unsubtle, retching cough. " _She's_ always on about me not wasting my life," he grumbled, "or some other pseudo-philosophical bullshit - "

"Well, she's not wrong," Hermione informed him, shaking her head. "Hospital rules. And even if that were not the case," she added pointedly, "I'm sure your family would not wish for you to chance another surgery like the one you just had, don't you think?"

"My son doesn't give two fucks whether I live or die," Nott scoffed. "And I know," he added through gritted teeth, "as the feeling's comfortably mutual."

Hermione grimaced, unsure how to proceed. "Well, in any case," she said, returning to the subject at hand, "have you been having any - "

She stopped as the door opened on her left, a man clad in an aged black leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans striding confidently through it. He, though certainly older himself, practically gleamed with health in comparison to Nott, his thick dark hair swept back in waves that were slightly peppered with grey but that otherwise showed little evidence of aging. Unlike Nott's expression of misery, this man bore a trace of _certainty_ , of confidence so telling it could only be arrogance, and fell comfortably into the chair beside the hospital bed.

"Theodore," the man said grandly, his blue eyes sliding pointedly to Hermione as Nott grunted his acknowledgement of the man's entrance, sitting upright. "New doctor?" the man added nonchalantly.

"Temporarily," Nott muttered back, shifting to face him; there was a sense of respect there from Nott, Hermione noted, and something that wasn't quite reverence, but was certainly a telling form of yielding to the other man's presence. "Anyone come with you?"

"I've got Theo working on something," the man supplied neutrally, shrugging as he answered the implied question. "I sent him off with Draco to check on our new friend."

At the sound of Draco's name, Hermione promptly choked on what was presumably the toxicity of the breath she'd just taken, sputtering slightly as she coughed.

"My goodness," the man drawled slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Do we have to treat you, too, Doctor?"

"Sorry," she said hastily, "just, um - something in my throat - "

"What's your name?" the man asked curiously, his eyes glinting as he looked at her, his head tilted in thought. "Nott, here," he added, reaching out to give Nott's shoulder a comfortingly possessive squeeze, "is a very close friend of mine, so I'm sure you understand that I want to be certain he has the best possible care."

"I'm Dr Granger," Hermione said, nodding to him. "Are you, um - " she hesitated, glancing between them. "Family?"

The man's teeth cut across his lip as he smiled. "In a sense," he agreed. "I'm Tom," he explained, coming to his feet to offer her his hand. "Tom Riddle."

 _Riddle_ , she thought, and frowned, hearing Harry's voice; _I just think Riddle can do a lot more damage with Malfoy than without him -_

"Something wrong?" Riddle asked, grinning knowingly.

"No, no - I'm so sorry," Hermione stammered haltingly, reaching forward to lightly grip his hand, giving it as professional a shake as she could muster given the clamor of her thoughts. "It's just been a long shift - but I promise, Mr Nott is in very good hands with Dr Patil," she supplied reassuringly, glancing down at the chart and skimming it, "and she's been charting his recovery very closely - "

"Has she?" Riddle asked, his smile becoming vaguely strained. "Well, wonderful, then," he said, recovering quickly. "I'm sure we'll see Nott back on his feet again soon, if that's the case."

"Fucking - _good_ ," Nott growled. "These hospital nazis are hellish. Fucking _unbearable_ \- " he paused, making a face as he glanced up at Hermione. "No offense," he muttered insincerely.

"None taken," she assured him, replacing his chart. "No new pain, then, Mr Nott? No problems Dr Patil should know about?"

"Had some chest pain last night," Nott said, shrugging. "Nurses took care of it."

"I'll be sure to let her know," Hermione said evenly. "And in the meantime, I'll let you two visit, and if there's nothing else - "

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Riddle asked, resuming his seat and leaning back against the chair. "Take a load off, Doctor," he invited, his teeth flashing unsettlingly as he waited, smiling at her.

"Unfortunately, I have a few of my own patients to attend to," Hermione lied, "but thank you for the offer, Mr Riddle - "

"So formal," Riddle commented, feigning disappointment. "Call me Tom, at least. We're all family here," he added, gesturing around the room, and Nott rolled his eyes.

"People keep throwing that word around like it means something," he scoffed, and Hermione, feeling trapped by oddness from every angle, quickly pointed herself at the door, intent on disappearing through it.

"Well, thank you, Mr Rid- I mean, Tom," she said quickly, "and Mr Nott, please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything - "

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, waving a hand at her as Riddle glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes never leaving hers as she slipped out of the door.

* * *

"Oh good, more guns," Theo said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking to myself that what my life was missing was the constant stress of imminent death - "

"Look, see a therapist for that shit," the painfully attractive blonde who was apparently named _Fleur_ \- something far too delicate for Draco to process being her _actual name -_ informed him brusquely, the slightest trace of a French accent curling itself around her speech. "I just do the books."

"What does Griphook want us to do with this?" Draco asked, staring at the case full of ammunition.

She shrugged indifferently. "Out of my payroll," she said, flicking her wrist in disinterest before leaning back, glaring at them. "Seriously," she added, lifting one brow, "stop fucking asking questions."

"Don't you two have a boss for that?" the other man contributed obnoxiously, loudly permitting a box of something heavy to fall on the desk between them and then leaning over, making a point to place himself between the two of them and Fleur. "Seems like he should keep you a little more informed."

"Stay out of it, Viktor," Fleur muttered, shoving the box aside. "And quit pissing all over my area, okay?" she added pointedly, making a face. "I told you, we're _done -_ "

"Come on, Fleur," Viktor groaned, nudging her. "It was _one time,_ babe - "

"Oddly, one time is a sufficient frequency for a great number of things," Fleur retorted, crossing one slender leg over the other in an altogether beguiling huff. "Vaccinations, condoms, infidelity - "

"Well, this sounds lovely," Theo said, smirking at her. "Do tell."

"Nothing to tell," Fleur said instantly, gesturing to Viktor. "Look at him," she added, making a face. "I should have known."

"Okay, hold on," Viktor interrupted, his heavy brow furrowing in apparent discontent. "The thing is," he opened grandly, glancing appealingly between Draco and Theo, "when Griphook brought Fleur to Gringotts, I _selflessly_ took her in - "

"Forged my papers, he means," she clarified, and Theo's smirk twitched into a smile of amusement.

" - when she was an immigrant with _nothing -_ "

"I'm from Paris," Fleur said flatly. "I went to Oxford."

" - and I basically taught her English," Viktor continued. "Though, in fairness, she taught me French." He paused at that, grinning smugly. "If you know what I mean."

"We do," Draco said curtly, his expression souring as Theo's face contorted in equal displeasure.

"And then," Fleur supplied matter-of-factly, removing her reading glasses to run the edge of the arm over her lip, " _just_ as he and my pussy were finally speaking the same language, I caught him fucking my roommate" - she paused, holding up a hand as Viktor tried to interject and cutting him off with an admirably effective muted glare of disgust - "so now, here we are," she concluded, gesturing around the room and sitting back in her chair.

There was a beat of awkward silence, and then -

"Good to know," Theo remarked drily. "Sounds like a healthy work environment," he added, grinning at her.

Fleur narrowed her glance at him, tilting her head. "You're kind of fucked up, aren't you?" she asked, scrutinizing him with an oddly intrigued curiosity. "I'm sensing you don't really know when to shut up."

"Oh, I don't," Theo agreed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on her desk. "But I'll tell you one thing," he assured her quietly, his gaze flicking over her as Draco fought not to roll his eyes, "I assure you, I can speak whatever language you want."

"I bet you can," she murmured in agreement, a slow smile creeping over her lips as Viktor cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to him.

"Anyway," Viktor announced, his gaze darting between them, "if you two are done here - "

"We are," Draco assured him, grabbing Theo's collar and pulling him away from where he and Fleur had leaned towards each other across the desk. "You two," he added, nudging Theo in the ribs and jutting his chin out at Fleur, "can sort this out after business hours."

"Or not," Viktor suggested sulkily, but Fleur cleared her throat delicately, coming to her feet.

"Like I said earlier, Griphook's instructions were to set these aside for you," she said, all business again as she straightened her skirt, moving the box Viktor had placed on her desk and kicking the case of AKs towards them. "Where you take them after that is your boss's prerogative."

"Washing your hands of us, are you?" Theo asked, shaking his head in false lamentation. "Tragic."

"You," she said simply, falling back into her chair and propping her stilettoed feet up on the desk, "can pick me up tomorrow night. Eight o'clock." She daintily crossed one ankle over the other, watching his response. "Wine and dine me," she instructed briskly, "and don't skimp. I may work for a criminal, but I'm still a lady."

"I don't doubt it," Theo assured her, his smirk broadening, and while Draco was in the midst of shaking his head at the utter unlikelihood of Theo's appeal he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, prompting him to shift the case of ammunition under his arm and dig it out. He picked it up, glancing at the screen in time to see Daphne's name before bringing it to his ear, frowning.

"Hello?" he asked, and was met with instant hysteria.

"Draco," she gasped, clearly hyperventilating, "you have to - you have to come here - "

"Daph," he said, the concern in his voice prompting Theo to glance up worriedly from his inane wooing of Fleur, "Daph, where are you?"

"Astoria," Daphne sobbed, "Draco - she's - you have to come here - "

"What's wrong?" Draco demanded, suddenly feeling his heart race. "Daphne, talk to me - what happened?"

A low, wretched sob escaped her, the anguish evident even through the phone.

"Draco," she said, choking on his name, "Astoria's been shot."

The box fell out from under his arm, crashing to the ground as Viktor and Fleur both leapt up, staring at him in disbelief.

"I'll be right there," he said, forcing a swallow. "Get her to the hospital, Theo and I will be right there with you, Daph - "

"Draco," Theo said urgently, promptly abandoning his seduction and stepping over to him. "What's going on?"

"Draco, I can't," Daphne sobbed over the phone, her voice muffled as she spoke into it. "I can't - "

"Why not?" Draco asked, dread bubbling up in his lungs. "Daphne, it'll be okay, just call - "

"Draco," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "She's dead."

The phone slipped from his hands.

* * *

"Headed home?" Dean asked, pulling on his shoes and stuffing his hospital pair back in his locker as she nodded her confirmation. "Long day," he added, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't wait to get home."

"You and Seamus doing anything tonight?" she asked, reaching in for her coat.

"Sea's at the bar tonight, unfortunately," Dean said, grimacing. "I'll have to drink if I want to see him, and let's be honest" - he shrugged, rolling a knot out of his shoulders - "that's not happening after the shift we just had."

"Fair enough," she agreed, checking her phone. Nothing from Draco, she noticed, and frowned; that was unusual. He'd gotten into the habit of texting her when she'd gotten off work, and vice versa.

 _Of course, he was busy today,_ she thought morosely, remembering Riddle's visit to the hospital.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, catching the faltering of her smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she exhaled, shaking her head. "Just - got distracted. Thinking about a patient," she explained, and he nodded slowly, not fully convinced but clearly also not equipped with the energy to argue.

"Any thoughts in particular?" he asked, and she hesitated, biting her lip.

"Dean," she ventured slowly, "can I ask you something that might be personal?"

He shrugged, inviting it. "Shoot," he offered, and she took a breath.

"Can you tell me about the Death Eaters?" she asked, and he nodded slowly as the question registered, considering his answer.

"The Death Eaters are a local bike gang," he explained tentatively, "though that doesn't really cover it. They have a lot of investments in Diagon; they own property and businesses and shit." He paused, shrugging. "Stuff like that," he added, though he looked as though the 'stuff' in question was less 'property taxes' than 'general deviance.'

"And?" Hermione asked, prompting him as he hesitated. "What else is there?"

Dean squirmed, battling his better judgment.

"Look," he sighed eventually, "I try to be fair. Ron's one of my best friends, and I pretty much stayed out of the way when it came to his issues with the young guys like Malfoy and Nott - _but,_ " he said, leaning into the word, "they definitely do have a fair amount of criminality going on, especially since Dumbledore died. That was the old president," he explained, and Hermione nodded. "He wasn't much of a pre-emptive strike kind of person, and he was real embedded in Diagon. Helped out a _ton_ of people; probably more good than bad," he added optimistically, "though I can't say for certain."

She could tell something wasn't being said, so she waited, watching Dean struggle for a minute.

"Ron's dad is a county prosecutor," Dean said tangentially, and Hermione nodded, leaning against her locker. "And, uh - he had a Death Eater on trial once about twelve years ago. Rosier, I think," he added, and shook his head, "not that that matters."

Hermione, who had heard Draco reference an incident between Ron's father and his own a number of times by the point, prepared herself for the worst. "And?"

"Ron found Arthur all fucked up one night," Dean said, "beaten and bloody. He wouldn't say who did it, but we sort of all knew," he supplied warily, his grimace tightening. "We pretty much knew it had to have been Lucius Malfoy pressuring him to drop the charges against Rosier."

"What did he do after that?" Hermione asked breathlessly, thinking of the scars on Draco's knuckles and feeling her innards twist, unwillingly wondering how much he was like his father.

"Arthur? He stayed on the case," Dean said simply. "That's the kind of man he is. He refused to drop the charges - even though I _assume_ he was threatened, because he also refused to file a police report for his own beating. In the end, the state's witness fucked off," Dean said regretfully, "and so the case was eventually dropped, but Ron always had a feeling it had been them, and then there was a whole - " he shook his head, cutting himself off and shrugging. "Point is, Ron's got a lot of reason to take issue with them, especially Malfoy. That's the blond one," he clarified, and a piece of her wanted to laugh at the thought that she would need clarification. "The one who came into Rosmerta's last time we were out with Padma."

"Got it," Hermione said quietly, realizing why Draco had not wanted to tell her about what had happened between his father and Ron's. "Wow."

"Pretty much," Dean said, nodding his agreement. "The Death Eaters have been around Diagon forever and like I said, they do a lot of good for folks around here, but you don't want to cross them." He grimaced. "Especially not now."

"The new president?" Hermione asked. "Is that why?"

Dean shrugged, looking a little queasy. "Again, I don't know much about it," he said, with more caution than Dean typically used in conversation. "But Riddle was always sort of a problem, or so the rumors seemed to go. He was a little more ruthless than Dumbledore, and little . . . less _liked_ ," he determined. "People weren't thrilled with him as a successor. Sea's boss, for example, wasn't thrilled," he said pointedly. "Considering Riddle's penchant for establishing ironclad authority, that transition was just - "

"Messy?" Hermione guessed, and Dean made a face.

"Something like that," he confirmed with a somewhat uncomfortable nod. "Anyway, is this about Padma's patient?" he prompted, frowning a little as he looked at her. "Were you uncomfortable treating him? I know Padma doesn't give a shit," he remarked flippantly, "but she sees everyone as a slab of meat for her to stitch back up as far as I can tell, so - "

"No, it's not that," Hermione said, laughing a little at the accuracy of the assertion. "I was just a little curious, I guess."

"Ron says Harry's been having to babysit the Death Eaters recently," Dean said, the side of his lip twitching in disapproval. "Seems a little off to me that a group of people known for violence would need much protecting, but - "

"You think they're all like that?" Hermione asked. "Like that Malfoy guy," she said, carefully neutral as she brought him up. "Do you think he's as violent as his father?"

Dean reached up, curling his palm around his mouth as he considered it. "He _did_ sort of beat the shit out of Ron," he said hesitantly, "though we were younger then, and it was Ron who started that fight - "

"Seems unwise," Hermione murmured, though she didn't quite relish the thought of knowing Draco had been so ruthless, regardless of who had initiated the fight.

" - but in general, I think I'd lean towards no," Dean finished, still looking faintly uncertain about his position on the matter. "I always thought Malfoy felt bad about what happened to Ron's father, but then when he - "

Dean cut off, shaking his head. "I think Draco Malfoy is a lot of things," he determined unhelpfully. "Smart, definitely. Could have been really successful if he'd gotten out. I assume, of course, that he thinks he's successful now, given that he's probably pretty high up in the club," Dean said, seeming to try to be fair to him, "and he's really fucking loyal. So's Nott," he added quickly. "It's just that their loyalties are hard fought and rarely won, and generally unsavory."

"Sounds" - _like someone I don't know at all -_ "interesting," Hermione finished, fighting a grimace. "Thanks for telling me all that."

"Yes, you're very welcome for the history lesson," Dean assured her, patting the top of her head. "Now you know all the things, Dr Granger."

"I certainly do," she muttered, and glanced down at her phone, knowing the moment she saw the still-blank screen that what she'd just said was, unfortunately, a lie.

* * *

Draco stormed into the Manor, bursting in through the double doors of the board room.

"It was fucking Greyback," he half shouted, slamming his palms down on the table as Lucius and Slughorn leapt back in alarm. Riddle, though, only glanced up slowly at his entrance, resolutely unfazed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to start from the beginning, Draco," Tom remarked slowly, and Draco dug his fingernails into his palm, gritting his teeth in a mix of anguish and fury.

"Astoria Greengrass was shot and killed this morning," Draco said, feeling a strain in his chest at the words. "Once in the head," he choked out, "and then once in the _shoulder,_ " he said emphatically, feeling his volume rise again. "The _fucking shoulder,_ Tom - "

"And you think it was Greyback?" Tom prompted, tilting his head. "Why?"

"The shot!" Draco growled again, yanking his sleeve up to point to the scar that had been Greyback's parting gift to him. "The shoulder?" he demanded. "That wasn't a kill shot and you know it - it was a message _for me,_ Tom," he spat, "Greyback's fucking coming after _me -_ "

"Now, now," Slughorn cut in nervously, "this seems a bit like you're jumping to conclusions - "

"Am I?" Draco shouted, his hair falling into his eyes as he rounded on the police chief. "It was _your_ fucking deputy who told me to expect something," he ranted, "that it was _suspicious_ that we hadn't heard from him - "

"When did Harry say that?" Slughorn asked, looking dazed before turning apologetically to Tom. "I'm sure he didn't mean it like _that,_ per se - "

"Mm," Tom agreed, drumming his fingers against the table as he eyed Draco from afar. "Did you alert the authorities?"

"I'm fucking alerting them right now," Draco said emphatically, gesturing to Slughorn. "Slughorn, there's a fucking _dead body_ , surely we can build some kind of fucking _case_ \- "

"We certainly cannot," Lucius interjected, frowning at him. "Draco, use your head - we cannot take this to the _police_ , you would only put the club at risk for investigation - "

"ARE YOU JOKING?" Draco roared back, glaring at his father in disbelief. "The fucking head of the Diagon Police is sitting _right_ fucking _there_ \- "

"Draco, you know I can't do anything with this," Slughorn said in a low voice. "If I do any investigating into this girl's death, it will only lead back to the Death Eaters - "

"This _girl_?" Draco echoed furiously. "This _girl_ is a Greengrass," he said, slamming a fist down on the table. "Her _father_ died for the club and now - "

He choked on a breath, remembering his last glimpse of her - at the horrifyingly vacant eyes of the girl he'd once loved - and hesitated, sucking in a labored breath. "And _now_ \- "

"I wonder, Draco," Tom mused softly, watching him with an eerie blend of curiosity and a subtle, cruel amusement, "would she have been in any danger if you had not been indulging in your recreational pursuits?"

Silence fell between them as the implication floated down above their heads.

Draco drew back, gaping at him. "I," he said hesitantly, but found he couldn't argue; he'd been followed after all, he might have lead them there - _Granger,_ he thought instantly, his heart pounding and ripping him to shreds, _it could have been Hermione_ \- "I - I don't think I can - "

"Surely," Lucius broached carefully, "this is not Draco's fault." Draco, stunned, glanced at his father, his mouth still ajar as guilt beat itself relentlessly against his chest, his heart thrusting against the shaking confines of his ribs. "However," Lucius continued, "perhaps we might consider a retaliation for Miss Greengrass' death? Something," he added, "to prove to Greyback that the Death Eaters will not tolerate the bloodshed of our own?'

For a moment, a flicker of rage flashed in Tom's face at the uninvited suggestion and then, as quickly as it had appeared, it faded, blending into the icy blue of his gaze.

"If this is, as Draco suspects, the work of Fenrir Greyback," Tom ventured coolly, "then I am the eventual target, and this will eventually fall to me. Angering Greyback now without any concrete evidence of his involvement would be - " he paused, trailing off. "Unwise," he concluded, pursing his lips in displeasure at the thought.

"So that's it, then?" Draco demanded hoarsely, scarcely able to breathe. "It's _unwise_ , and so we do nothing?"

Tom leaned back in his chair, looking wearied and annoyed. "Have Avery or Mulciber take care of it," he suggested to Lucius. "Have them go to - " he paused, glancing at Draco. "Miss Greengrass's home?"

"Her apartment," Draco confirmed grimly, shuddering as he thought of the scene; of the familiar living room and the blood soaked into the carpet, of Daphne's fingers clenched around the narrow limbs of her younger sister's body. "Yes."

"Interesting," Tom ruled, curling a hand around his chin, and Draco stared at him, wondering how such a thing could be ruled as _interesting_. "Weren't you there recently, Draco?" Tom prompted, eyeing him.

Draco, taken aback, forced a heavy swallow. "Daphne's in town," he tried to explain, his voice emerging in a weak and rasping croak. "Astoria had a party - "

"Well," Tom said brightly, "perhaps your concern is premature then." Tom smiled reassuringly, the words accomplishing the same effect as a patronizing pat on the head. "After all, the girl was not known for her choice of company, as I'm sure you'd agree."

At that, Slughorn cast his eyes down, and Lucius shifted in his seat.

"Are you saying this is _her_ fault, then?" Draco asked, loosely curling a fist as he stammered in disbelief. "Or," he added furiously, "do you still think it's _mine_?"

Tom paused, smiling slightly at the inadvisible recklessness of Draco's ire; the same warning smile he often gave Theo.

"I wouldn't presume to know," Tom murmured, steepling his fingers at his lips. "Would I, Draco?"

Draco bit back an angry retort - _have you fucking considered,_ he thought furiously, _that this is your fucking fault, Riddle? -_ and promptly turned on his heel, resolving to do something, _anything,_ to treat Astoria's death with the gravity it merited.

Riddle could blame him all he wanted. _He_ was going to do something about it, and as unpleasant as the course of action would be - and it would almost certainly be the depths of unpleasantness - he would have to take the risk.

"Take Daphne to my house," Draco said gruffly, striding into the Manor's front room and shoving his keys at Theo. "I have to run an errand and then I'll meet you there."

"Where are you going?" Theo asked helplessly, torn between concern for a half-catatonic Daphne and his natural impulse to side with Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth. "I'm going to find Potter," he said, and felt an instant blow of misery.

* * *

 **a/n:** I know, I know, not enough Dramione in this chapter, but I had to get some plot in. If you miss Dramione in the interim, I am writing a new (very) smutty one shot to be posted in _**Draught of Living Death**_ , so check for that tomorrow/today (my birthday!) depending on your time zone. This chapter is for Green Eyed Lana Lee!

 _PS_ \- regarding Chekhov's Gun: _"Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."_ \- Anton Chekhov

 _Edit:_ for those who don't know . . . **C U N** ext **T** uesday.


	11. Believe Me

**Chapter 11: Believe Me**

"Potter," Draco called without hesitation, striding into the restaurant. "I need you."

Potter cleared his throat, glancing up across the table at his companion while resolutely ignoring Draco. "He doesn't mean it how it sounds," Potter said carefully, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "He's just very dramatic."

"Potter!" Draco barked, ignoring the bristled look of confusion on the woman's face; he registered that Potter was probably on a date, but could not summon the effort to care. "I'm not fucking around here - "

"Malfoy," Potter cut in neutrally, finally glancing up at him. "How did you find me?"

"I have sources," Draco supplied ambiguously, pairing the statement with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "But again, I'm - "

"Parvati Patil, Draco Malfoy," Potter interrupted again, gesturing between them.

"Nice to meet you," the woman called Parvati said stiffly - and insincerely - and Draco, in response, barely managed a nod.

"Potter, listen," Draco said, stubbornly ignoring the stares he was garnering from around the room. "It gives me no pleasure whatsoever to be here - "

"Ah, good," Potter returned, picking up his glass of wine and shaking his head. "Excellent."

" - but I have a problem. It's about - " he paused, hesitating as he cast a tentative glance at Potter's skeptical dinner partner. "It's about what we talked about before," he determined, nodding briskly. "There's been an escalation."

"Mm," Potter remarked, looking smugly unsurprised. "Well, as you so unequivocally stated, you've clearly got it handled, so - "

"It wasn't against the club," Draco cut in, feeling a bristle of frustration that Potter would choose now to abandon his prior earnestness in the interest of smarmy condescension. "It was - it was Astoria," he said, his chest tightening painfully yet again at her name. "Daphne's sister."

At the sound of the familiar name, Potter's glass floated momentarily in the air as he paused in the act of replacing it. "Daphne," he echoed, swallowing, before glancing up at Draco. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," Draco managed, shutting his eyes briefly. "Astoria, she's - " he took a breath. "She's dead."

Potter inhaled sharply, resuming his motion so suddenly that the bottom of his glass crashed against the table with a startling lack of grace. "Why her?" he asked, shaking his head. "And why do you think it had anything to do with - "

"The car I asked you about," Draco interrupted, and Potter nodded slowly, his brow stitching together in troubled recognition. "The sedan. I was being followed that night."

Potter grimaced. "You should have said something," he murmured, with an underlying hint of admonishment.

"I didn't need you babysitting me," Draco shot back, but then quieted, remembering what he was there to do. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just - I thought that I had it under control."

"Why do you think it was - " Potter stopped, glancing at Parvati and clearing his throat before letting the name _Greyback_ slip from his lips. "Why do you think it has anything to do with our last conversation?" he asked carefully.

"I just know," Draco insisted. "They left me a message. I just - " he glanced around the room. "I can't talk about it now. Or here," he added, gesturing to the people in the restaurant, including Potter's own date. "I can't."

"Has anyone been there?" Potter prompted. "Who was the responding officer?"

Draco swallowed heavily. "The police weren't contacted," he said, hoping Potter did not press the issue. "It - we took care of it. In house," he clarified, and Potter shook his head in disbelief.

"So what do you want from me, then?" he asked, his frown deepening as he glanced again at Draco. "Call Slughorn if you need something, or - "

"He won't help," Draco cut in, growing impatient with the conversation. "Just - don't make me explain right now," he insisted, with as little desperation as he could manage to withhold. "You know I wouldn't be here," he added, and this, he knew, Potter would understand. "You _know_ I wouldn't fucking be here if this was not my absolute last resort."

Potter took a deep breath, nodding slowly; he glanced at Parvati, who, Draco noted, had transitioned gradually from initial surprise to open disinterest to obvious and unrestrained irritation.

"I'm sorry," Potter told her slowly, "but he's right. He's an asshole" - he glanced pointedly at Draco as he said this, to which Draco nodded his unapologetic agreement - "and an overall dick, but he doesn't ask for help," Potter finished. "I'm going to have to hear him out on this."

"Let me guess," Parvati replied through pursed lips, "you're leaving me with the check?"

Potter blinked. "No, I'm not - "

"I mean, I applaud you on your creativity," Parvati snapped, gesturing pointedly to where Draco stood waiting. "But if you didn't want to be here, you could have just - "

"I do," Potter protested; albeit unconvincingly, as even Draco could see it was a lie. "No, really, I was having a lovely time, but - "

"Forget it," Parvati said, throwing her napkin down on her plate and rising to her feet. "I'll leave you to it," she sniffed, turning over her shoulder and waltzing out of the restaurant without looking back.

Draco cleared his throat, shifting uneasily after she'd gone. "So - "

"Well," Potter remarked glumly, gesturing to the vacant seat, "I suppose you might as well explain yourself while I wait for the check, then."

"Sorry," Draco muttered, jutting his chin in the direction Parvati had gone. "First date?"

"Yes," Potter confirmed, his expression souring. "She's the twin sister of someone who works with a good friend of mine at the hospital," he explained, and Draco knew without a breath of doubt that he had meant Hermione. "Unfortunately, I don't think we had all that much in common."

"Not into cops?" Draco asked wryly, shaking his head as Potter gestured to the waiter for the bill. "Can't say I blame her."

"She's not into much, I'll tell you that," Potter said with a grimace. "So," he said, glancing at Draco after the waiter disappeared. "Is Daph- " he cut himself off, catching himself before a somewhat telling slip. "Is everyone else okay? Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," Draco said, exhaling sharply. "No," he repeated bitterly. "Just Astoria."

Potter winced.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I didn't mean to make it sound like she wasn't - " he stopped, his mouth tightening in a mournful sort of sympathy. "I know she meant something to you."

"Yeah, well, it was my fault," Draco said, cupping his hand around his mouth. "At least partially."

"Don't say that," Potter told him, shaking his head. "Don't. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger."

"No, but I led them there," Draco muttered, with more misery than he expected to find in his voice. For all that he'd argued with Tom, for all that he wanted to shout _it was Greyback, it was him, he's the monster, he did this -_

He still felt an inescapable heat of blame.

"Malfoy," Potter said, and then hesitated. "Draco," he offered, and Draco glanced up. "Why didn't Daphne call the police?"

Draco took a deep breath, yanking himself from the depths of his guilt and reseating himself in conversation. "She's the daughter of a Death Eater," he supplied easily. "We're not the biggest fans."

Potter nodded to the waiter, permitting a moment between exchanging his credit card for the check and then turning back to Draco, his expression placidly still.

"But you came to me," he commented, and Draco could see it was a question.

He hesitated before answering, considering how much he should divulge. "There's things you don't know about Slughorn," he said, and Potter shut his eyes, his mouth tightening in displeasure.

"I knew it," he muttered, and when his eyes fluttered open again, his gaze had sharpened beneath the unassuming frames of his glasses. "I suspected, but I could never - " he stopped, shaking his head. "Anyway," he sighed. "Slughorn wouldn't help you?"

Draco swallowed, feeling the weight of his admission. "Tom doesn't want me pursuing this," he explained, leaning back as the waiter returned, nodding to them before leaving Potter with a pen for his signature. "He refused to do anything, and Slughorn won't open an investigation because it will lead back to the club."

"Hm," Potter said, signing the bill and setting the pen down thoughtfully. "Sounds like my hands are tied, then," he ventured experimentally.

"As are mine," Draco confirmed, drumming his fingers against the table.

"So what exactly do you want me to do?" Potter asked him; it was a fair question, though not one he had a particularly good answer to, and Draco shook his head.

"I want you to believe me," he determined flatly, resigning himself to honesty.

To his surprise, Potter nodded, pushing his chair back and rising slowly to his feet.

"So," Potter said, gesturing to the exit. "Where to?"

* * *

Hermione heard her phone ring and felt around for it on her nightstand, rubbing sleep from her eyes and groaning as she saw the name on the screen.

"Hello?" she muttered incoherently, at which point Padma's voice blasted mercilessly through the phone.

"Hermione, what the fuck?" she demanded nonsensically, shouting into the receiver. "Parvati's just called me and apparently Harry fucking left in the middle of their date, or tried to - or fucking, I don't know - "

"Hold on," Hermione mumbled, clearing her throat. "What?"

"Parvati and Harry were out on their date," Padma explained impatiently, "and apparently some biker fucking dudebro came in yelling about something - "

"Biker?" Hermione asked, suddenly fully awake. She pulled the phone from her ear to check her screen; no notifications. "Who was it?"

"Some - I don't know, Malfoy or whatever - he sounded like that blond guy from Rosmerta's that Ron's always prattling on about," she said, her volume still unnaturally loud. "And anyway, Parvati's _convinced_ that Harry had him show up like that on purpose - "

"No way," Hermione said quickly, shaking her head. "Not possible. Those two don't get along."

"Well, fucking _good_ , then," Padma grumbled. "She's unbelievably pissed and she won't stop yelling at me - she keeps accusing me of being 'in on it,' which, if you're following, is causing me some utter fucking distress - "

"Look, I'm sorry," Hermione assured her, fighting a yawn. "I'm sure Harry didn't mean to be rude, I mean - you _know_ him, you know how nice he is - "

"WELL HOW NICE CAN HE BE," Padma abruptly shouted, "IF I'M HAVING TO DEAL WITH - oh, sorry, yes, here you go - "

"Where are you?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Who are you - "

"I'm at Ron's," Padma sighed. "I was hoping to have a collection of orgasms tonight but _unfortunately_ my sister is demanding I come home to, I don't know," Padma growled, "rub her back and feed her ice cream or something - "

"Did she say what Dra- "

Hermione stopped, flinching.

"What?" Padma yelled from afar, as though she'd suddenly gone on speaker. "Who?"

"Did she say what that" - she paused, trying to think of what an appropriately uninformed term would be - " _dudebro_ wanted from Harry?"

"Someone's dead, I guess," Padma supplied, her voice returning to the receiver with no recognizable shift in tone. "I don't know, she was a little occupied with - _yeah_ ," she breathed suddenly, "no, lower - yes, there, _there_ it is - "

"Wait," Hermione said, making a face as she listened to Padma's breaths come shorter. "Are you - "

"Oh, fuck, _yes_ , right there," Padma said. "Yeah, okay, keep going - Sorry, Hermione," she said quickly, "what were you saying about - "

"Jesus Christ, are you having sex right now?" Hermione asked, making a face.

"Oh _god_ no, I'm in a hurry," Padma returned bluntly, with an audibly dismissive shrug. "He's just going down on me - "

"BYE," Hermione promptly said, hanging up and letting the phone drop against her duvet with a deeply unpleasant shudder.

She picked her phone up again, staring at the screen, before considering what she should do.

What she _could_ do, really.

It was telling that Draco hadn't come to her; of course, she was hardly any use to him, but what would he have possibly needed a police officer for? _Particularly,_ she thought, chewing on her thumbnail, _when given his obvious opposition?_

She tapped Harry's name, beginning to send a text.

 _ **Hey,**_ she typed, _**heard your date didn't end so well. Everything okay? Did you have f**_

She stopped as another text came in; this one made her heart stop.

 _ **I need to see you.**_

She bit her lip. _**I'm at home.**_

 _ **I'll be there soon**_ , he responded, and she held her breath.

* * *

"So you think Greyback is responsible," Potter said slowly, pacing Draco's living room as he recapped their conversation. "And you want to - what, then," he prompted, frowning. "Go after him?"

"You know him better than I do," Draco reminded him. "Is that a possibility?"

Potter let out a sound that was nearly a scoff, though he clearly didn't possess it in himself to do so. "Not a very good one," he determined, shaking his head. "You'd be outgunned for certain."

"You don't actually know that," Theo countered silkily, arching a brow.

"I don't, no," Potter agreed, "but I'd be willing to stake my life on it." He looked up at Draco. "Are you?" he asked, letting his intent carry between them.

" _My_ life? Gladly," Draco muttered. "I'd _happily_ take the chance, considering I already owe him a fucking bullet for the one he put in me - "

"But he didn't go after _you_ ," Potter reminded him. "He went after someone you cared about. He could do it again," he said, his gaze traveling to where Daphne sat beside Theo. "He could come back if he doesn't get what he wants."

"What does he fucking _want_?" Draco demanded. "There was no message," he growled in frustration, "just the extra shot - "

"I actually find that very strange," Potter remarked. "The lack of message, I mean."

"Well, presumably he wants Tom," Theo ventured, leaning forward. "Doesn't he?"

"But he went after Malfoy," Potter said slowly, then paused, shaking his head. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"Does he normally make sense?" Draco pressed. "Are we even talking about someone who functions within any recognizable rationality?"

"Generally, yes," Potter said bluntly. "I mean, it's _possible_ he's angrier than usual, considering the insult from Tom - _but_ ," he continued emphatically, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Even then, his kills usually come with a very distinct message."

"More distinct than the shoulder shot?" Theo asked, frowning.

"Uh, _yeah_ ," Potter confirmed, looking a tinge green. "I'm talking a message in the victim's blood, or a note with his demands stapled to their forehead."

Theo briefly dry-heaved, reaching for his throat. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fucking _christ -_ "

"You'd be surprised how quiet Diagon is compared to what I've seen in Knockturn," Potter muttered, shaking his head. "It would be about the worst possible news if Greyback really did take his business to Diagon - "

"Could you stop?" Daphne cut in quietly, prompting them all to turn in her direction. Her eyes were swollen still, and she hadn't made a sound in the hour they'd been talking. "I realize that you've seen worse, but wasn't - " she shut her eyes, swallowing heavily. "Wasn't what happened to my sister bad enough?"

"Yes," Potter said instantly, taking a quick step in her direction but then halting, looking like he'd forced himself not to reach for her. "Yes, Daphne, I'm so sorry - I hadn't - " he stopped, looking mortified. "I wasn't thinking."

She said nothing; Theo reached over, brushing a loose curl from her shoulder. "You shouldn't go home for a bit, Daph," he murmured, tracing his thumb along her cheek. "You live alone, and - "

"I can take care of myself," she interrupted bitterly, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. "I don't want to be here."

"Out of the question," Draco said firmly, and she glanced up, glaring at him. "You're staying with one of us, and that's final."

"I have a _job_ , Draco," she reminded him. "And you might not care about the life I pulled together for myself but _I_ certainly do, and - "

"Fucking _of course_ we care, Daph," Theo reminded her, his tone all angles, brusque and sharp. "Personally, I'd rather not let you out of my fucking _sight -_ "

"Neither would I," Draco said quickly, and then sighed in frustration. "But she shouldn't stay here," he realized, shaking his head. "If anyone comes after me again, I'd think _my apartment_ would be a bit of a fucking giveaway."

"She'll come with me," Theo said, without hesitation. "It's fine, I'll just - "

"Do you really think that's any better?" Potter asked them pointedly. "You were with Malfoy when the deal went south," he reminded Theo, "and it's not a secret that you're close." He shook his head. "Neither of you are particularly well-equipped to maintain a safehouse at the moment."

"So what, then, Potter?" Draco demanded. "We're not letting her go home."

Daphne sighed. "Draco, stop it. You really can't - "

"No," Draco gritted out. "No, Daphne, not fucking acceptable."

"Have you forgotten who I am?" she countered furiously, rising to her feet. "Have you forgotten who _raised me_ , Draco?"

Draco shook his head in frustration. "You're not thinking straight, Daph - "

"Look," Theo interrupted, stepping between them. "You're not the only one associated with the club who's having problems, Daph," he informed her quietly. "We know you can take care of yourself, but not like this - I mean, Bones' fucking aunt's been threatened - "

"Susan Bones was a _groupie_ ," Daphne spat, brushing past him. "She wasn't the real thing _._ _I'm_ different," she said firmly, pulling her shoulders back and closing the distance between herself and Draco to brandish a warning finger in his face. "It's in my fucking _blood -_ "

"It was in _Astoria's_ blood, too," Draco shouted at her, losing his temper. "And she's fucking _gone_ , Daphne!" He sank back, leaning against his kitchen table. "She's gone," he muttered hoarsely, and Potter cleared his throat, stepping over to him.

"If Daphne wants to go home, she can go home," Potter said quietly. "It's not up to you to determine what's best for her."

"Fuck off, Potter," Theo snapped bitterly. "You have no fucking clue."

Potter said nothing for a moment, watching the three of them stand stiffly in their respective areas of the room before speaking again.

"Daphne," Potter said eventually, taking a step towards her. "If you want to go home, I'll make sure they don't stop you."

"The fuck did you just say, Potter?" Draco demanded, stiffening. "You think you can just - "

Potter held up a hand, watching Daphne's face. "But," he continued coolly, "if you can recognize that they care about you - and that they're right," he added, at which point she glanced at her feet, "then maybe you would consider sticking around Diagon while we try to sort out what happened to your sister. You can stay with me," he informed her quietly. "Greyback wouldn't have any reason to look for you there, nor would anyone else." He glanced up at Draco, who didn't move. "If you're willing to listen to them - to _us_ ," Potter finished, turning back to her, "I promise to keep you safe."

She said nothing, still looking down; across the room, Theo exhaled slowly, a telling sign of agreement.

"It's not a bad idea, Daph," Theo told her. "I mean, he's not my first choice, but" - he paused, shaking his head - "he _is_ making sense. I want you safe," he added. "Whoever can fucking _keep you safe_ , I want you with them."

Daphne tilted her head, glancing warily at Draco.

"It's better for you," Draco told her quietly. "I can't lose you, Daph. I won't," he said, swiping a hand over his cheek. "I fucking _won't_ lose you the way we lost her."

Daphne shook her head, looking torn and trapped, before glancing at Potter with what Draco could tell was purposeful resignation.

"A week," she said bluntly. "One week. I'll cancel my clients for a week."

Potter shrugged. "Fine," he said. "If that's what you want." He glanced between Theo and Draco for confirmation before resuming focus on her. "I just want you to be taken care of."

"Well I want a shower," she muttered, "and I want to sleep until it stops hurting."

At that, Potter looked burdened. "It never does," he told her quietly. "But I can help you all the same."

She managed a weary nod, not straying from their silent shared glance. Eventually Theo took a step towards her, gripping her shoulder comfortingly.

"I'll take you back to Potter's car," he said, wrapping his arms around Daphne in a sorrowful farewell as Potter took a step towards Draco.

"You're good with this?" Potter asked him quietly, and Draco grimaced.

"Better than sending her back to Knockturn alone," he muttered, and Potter gave a single, brief nod in agreement. "Thanks for doing this."

"I'll check out the apartment tomorrow," Potter offered. "See if Greyback left any traces."

Draco nodded again. "Good," he said, and then they joined Theo near the door.

"Draco," Theo said, sidling up to him to speak privately. "You know what you have to do, right?"

Draco glanced at him, frowning. "What the fuck are you - "

"You heard Potter," Theo murmured, holding up a finger for pause as Potter looked questioningly at him from the doorway. "Anyone you care about is in danger right now."

"There's no one," Draco began, resuming his tireless refrain of denial. "I'm not - "

"Don't," Theo sighed, shaking his head. "You fucking know what you have to do."

It was several minutes after the door shut behind them that Draco pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking as he tapped the familiar comfort of her name.

 _ **I need to see you**_ , he wrote, and wondered just how badly he'd fucked up.

* * *

He was shaking when he showed up at her door; she pulled him into her arms, the questions she'd been dying to ask suddenly evaporating from her tongue, rendered useless and unimportant in his presence.

"Draco," she whispered to him. "Are you okay?"

"No," he said, shaking his head as he buried his face in the dip of her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. "No, I'm not."

 _What happened,_ she wanted to say, but found she couldn't speak; whatever he needed from her, he seemed to be taking it, holding her as tightly as muscle and bone would allow. She tried to pull him further inside but he wouldn't budge, seemingly intent on remaining where they stood, as if any motion might break him.

"I'm not a good person," he murmured in her ear, kissing her cheek and then pulling back to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm knee deep in fucking crime and violence and _shit -_ "

"It doesn't matter," she told him, and for a wild, reckless moment she really believed that it didn't. "I don't care - "

"You have to," he said, shaking his head. "You have to - _one_ of us has to be the smart one, Doc, and I can't - " he broke off, sliding his hand up the back of her neck to tangle his fingers in her hair. "I can only tell you that _I am bad for you,_ " he said finally, "and I have to stay away."

"Away," she repeated, pulling back to look at him. "What are you saying?"

His grey eyes cooled and sharpened in the dim light of her entryway.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully," he said, and she suffered a thrill of fear. "I need you to be as fucking careful as you possibly can. Always deadbolt your door when you're at home," he said, rushing through his frantic instructions, "and don't _ever_ let anyone in when you're alone - "

"I'm not a child, Draco," she said. "I know how to - "

"No, stop," he said, shaking his head furiously. "When you go home from work, have someone walk you to your car. Have fucking" - he waved a hand - "have fucking Officer Potter escort you if you have to. _Be safe,_ " he pleaded with her, holding her face between his palms. "Be safe, Granger, I'm begging you - "

"Okay," she said, suddenly struggling with tears she didn't understand. "Okay, I'll be safe."

"I need you to," he said, tracing his thumb over her lip. "I need to know you'll be safe, Hermione, I need to _know that_ \- "

"I will," she assured him, reaching up to take his hands in hers. "I will - "

"I can't stay," he choked out, gasping like the words were burning him from the inside out. "I want to - _fuck_ ," he swore maniacally, "I fucking _want to_ , but I can't stay - "

"Why not?" she asked, rising on her toes, her lips brushing his. "Why can't you stay with me?"

He shook his head, shutting his eyes. "I shouldn't even be here now," he said, somewhat angrily, like he'd let himself down. "I shouldn't have come but I couldn't - I couldn't just - "

"What?" she asked breathlessly, and then his mouth descended on hers, taking from her a greedy, fervent kiss that brought her colliding with the wall behind her, the impact of wood and cheap ivory paint nothing compared to the ache of him, the sheer force of what he was.

The kiss was starved and desperate, and for the first time since she'd met him he took more than he gave, stealing her breath with the way he furiously pulled at her hair, at her waist, at her hips, ridding them of any distance between them and replacing any absence with himself. It was a kiss so bruising it was painful, as though his only thought was to leave a mark; to last, to _stay_ , to continue to be with her, relentless and merciless, the way he himself so resolutely would not.

The length of the kiss itself was pulses, breaths, heartbeats - and then he moved away for a moment that felt like eternity, shifting her hands to take them in his before shoving something cold and metallic in her palms and forcefully closing her fingers around it.

"Promise me you'll be safe," he said, taking hold of her face with one hand. "Promise me."

"I promise," she said vacantly, knowing what was coming and wanting to fight it; wanting desperately to hold on, to hold _him_ -

"Promise," he said again, giving her another brusque shove of a kiss. "Promise."

"I promise," she said, half-dazed. "Draco, I promise - "

He swallowed. "I - " he began, and she held her breath, waiting.

"I'm going to miss you," he ground out in misery, his grip tightening in her hair before pressing a kiss to her forehead and walking away, wrenching her door open and striding through it without looking back.

She looked down at the item he'd pressed in her hands; a gun, dark and taunting as the door shut behind him.

A _gun_.

The first she'd ever held.

"Draco," she whispered, bringing one hand up to her lips. "What did you do?"

* * *

 **a/n:** Apologies for my absence; updates should be back on track for once a week. If you haven't already, this is my PSA to check out my tumblr or Little Chmura's to see the portrait of _Ride or Die_ Draco that she did for me. As to the question of how many chapters … I don't know, actually; at least 20, that's for sure. Lastly, this chapter is for Catuhh, who shares my birthday! Thank you to everyone for the birthday wishes, and as always, thanks for reading.


	12. All Out of White Flags

**Chapter 12: All Out of White Flags**

Harry sat in silence as Daphne came out of the bathroom, her wet hair tangled and dripping down her back as she headed vacantly to the second bedroom, pointedly not looking at him where he sat on the couch. He watched, taking a quiet sip of whiskey and wondering what he could possibly say when she suddenly stopped, backing up to glance at him.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked flatly, her voice low.

He frowned, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table. "What do you mean?"

She stared at him, her hazel eyes wide and pleading, before shaking her head and resuming her path to her room. She tossed the word "nevermind" over her shoulder and kept walking, muttering to herself. Her feet padded quietly down the hall and Harry sighed, rising to follow.

"Daphne," he called, knocking on the open doorframe and watching as she dried her hair with a hand towel, staring into space, the material of his t-shirt draped loosely over her shoulders. "Are you asking what to do while you're staying here - " _or something else,_ he thought silently, _like how the fuck you're supposed to go on living without the last of your family?_

She didn't say anything; she didn't turn around.

He wished for a moment he could have seen her again under other circumstances.

"You don't have to do anything," he told her, opting to answer the easier question. "Sleep if you want. Watch TV." He gestured behind him, feeling silly as he did it, since she clearly wasn't looking. "I have some books - "

"You want me to stay inside this apartment," she interrupted, lowering herself to sit on the air mattress he'd placed in the corner of the empty second bedroom - he'd thought he needed another room for storage when he chose the place until he remembered he owned nothing - before looking up at him, the question mixing with a trace of demand. "You might as well lock me up, Officer," she said, her lovely mouth twisting into a bitter frown as she forced out a humorless laugh. "It'd be about the same."

Harry sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Wait here," he instructed gruffly, wandering into his own bedroom. He opened the safe he used to keep his Beretta and withdrew it along with a magazine, bringing it back to her room and finding with a momentary lurch of surprise that she seemed to exhale with relief upon his return.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "I have a safe in the other room where I keep this. I have my police issue with me," he said, shrugging, "so if you really want to leave, you can take this one with you. You _should_ take it with you," he amended, shaking his head. "Just in case, if you decide you want to try to go anywhere."

She stared at him; first at his face and then at the gun in his hand, looking slightly sickened at the sight.

"So, um," Harry continued, flipping it over in his hand, "to use it, you just have to - "

He broke off as Daphne suddenly rose to her feet, moving to stand directly in front of him. He paused, holding his breath as she reached out and took both the pistol and the mag from his hand, locking the slide back and expertly loading the Beretta with a chambered round before disabling the safety and aiming the barrel at his head, her finger unnervingly steady on the trigger.

"Like this?" she said flatly, and for a moment Harry heard a quiet ringing in his ears; felt a warning knot curl up in his throat.

"Should I put my hands up?" he asked, trying not to let his breath catch as he slowly raised them in the air, staring at her expressionless face. "I'm fresh out of white flags."

"I'm the daughter of a Death Eater," Daphne reminded him coldly, a hint of venom in her tone as she skated past his sarcasm. Harry's gaze flicked to the rose and the snake on her arm before refocusing on her face, on the pain that seemed to splinter in the hazel of her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he said, watching the rise and fall of her chest as it rose to synchronize with his, the gun still aimed at his forehead. "Is it so bad that I don't want to force you to do it alone?"

She paused, considering him, her gaze fixed on his.

"You don't know what it's like," she said eventually, chewing her lower lip. "You don't know."

"Try me," he suggested, watching her struggle. She shook her head.

"You want to hear my story?" she asked. "Fine. I lost my father to a gun just like this one," she informed him, her finger tapping lightly beside the trigger. "And then my mother walked out the door one day with a bottle of vodka in her hand and she never fucking came back."

Harry said nothing.

"I don't blame her," Daphne spat bitterly. "I don't blame her for bailing, I don't blame her for leaving me with Astoria, I don't blame her for - " she stopped, choking a little. "Astoria," she whispered, and Harry's chest tightened. "I stayed as long as I could for her until I couldn't stand it anymore."

"Daphne," Harry said softly, and she shook her head again.

"I tried to run," she said, like she was confessing her sins. "I tried to run from this life and it fucking - " She cut herself off with an angered breath, a captive whimper. "It fucking _caught up with me_ \- "

Her hand shook for a moment and Harry moved to catch her left wrist with one hand, slowly reaching for the gun with the other. Her eyes widened, panicked, but she let her fingers relax as he gently covered them with his, letting him slowly ease the Beretta from her grasp before sliding the safety and setting it aside.

"I'm sorry," he said, and when that did not seem enough, he said it again. "I'm sorry - "

"Stop," she said, her wet hair falling over her shoulders as she bent her head. "Fucking _stop it_ , Harry - "

"I'm sorry," he repeated, only half conscious that his fingers had laced with hers. "I'm sorry, Daphne, I'm so fucking sorry - "

She closed the distance between them, the movement punctuated with a gasp that could have belonged to either of them. Her lips crashed against his with a terrible, aching desperation that sliced at him even as his mind shouted it was wrong, _she's hurting, she's vulnerable, walk away_ \- but she threw her arms around his neck and in his hands she was so small, so fragile, her still-wet hair leaking onto his forearms as she kissed him with a compounded force of fury and sorrow and rage. She slammed him against the wall behind him, yanking gracelessly at his shirt until he permitted her to pull it over his head, her nails digging into the skin of his chest as she brought her mouth back up to his, the kiss at once the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted even as it burned with a bitter sensation of _wrong,_ of blood that she drew from his lips.

He let her take from him, let her leave marks in his skin and take his fucking worthless pity from the useless waste that was his tongue, let her bury her nails in the back of his neck and pull him backwards to the mattress on the floor, falling onto it with a dull thud and then scrambling away to rid herself of the remaining fabric between them. He let her straddle him as she tore the shirt she wore from her thin frame and lowered herself against him, the skin of her torso burning and trembling, suddenly sick with sadness and guilt and fear.

"Hold me," she begged, and without hesitation he pulled her in as tightly as he could manage, slipping her leg between his and letting her cry into his chest to whisper her sister's name, her father's, her prayers and wishes and regrets. He held her while she fell apart, held her while she raged and stormed, held her while she collapsed against him, exhausted and hollowed out.

He held her for what felt like hours until she shoved him away, not saying a word; she turned her back on him and clutched her arms around herself, silently conveying the message: _get out._

Harry slid forward as she curled up to face the wall, the mattress shifting to accommodate the loss of his weight as he got to his feet. He picked his shirt up from the floor and then the gun, slowly straightening to eye the notched edges of her spine.

"The safe's in my bedroom," he told her, but she didn't turn around. "It's a combination lock. 1-0-3-1." She still didn't turn. "That's the date my parents died."

At that she shifted slightly, instinctively; it wasn't quite the motion of consenting to look at him, but enough to indicate that she was clearly listening to what he was saying.

He let out a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should have pushed you away," he commented, fidgeting where he stood. "Try not to hate me for that. But someday you'll want to talk about it," he added, and she made no motion, her knees still hugged to her chest. "And when you do, you know where to find me."

Harry shut the door behind him and lay awake the rest of the night, feeling Daphne's tears on his chest long after they'd dried.

* * *

"Draco," he heard from somewhere above him, feeling a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, wake up."

Draco stirred, making a face as he tasted the renewed twist of whiskey that scraped along the back of his tongue and squinted at the dark head of hair, muttering obscenities under his breath. He reached up, swatting impatiently at Theo's face.

"Go away," he muttered, burying his face in his arm. "I'm busy."

Theo sighed, straightening, and Draco caught a glimpse of a red dress from his periphery and realized they were not alone.

"Draco," Theo said, with remarkably measured patience. "You remember Fleur?"

Draco bolted upright, bringing a hand to his throbbing temple and groaning. "Why are you here?" he mumbled, before blinking away the excess light to register that he'd been sleeping on Theo's couch. "Oh," he said, checking the time; ten o'clock at night. " _Fuck_."

"Yeah," Theo said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I mean, you can stay here," he said uncomfortably, "but - "

"But I'd advise against it," Fleur interrupted, not unkindly. "I don't mean to be rude, but there's a very good chance I'll be quite loud." She paused, eyeing her scarlet fingernails. "Disruptively loud, or so I've heard."

"Fuck," Theo muttered under his breath, turning to glance at her. "Can you not make this harder than it is?"

"Fine, fuck, I'm leaving," Draco said, pulling at his mouth and trying to focus on them. Fleur, he could see, was wearing an alluringly fitted red dress, and it suddenly occurred to him that Theo's patience with him, given the circumstances, was likely bordering on sainthood. "Sorry, I was - " he looked around, realizing he was shirtless. "Where's my - "

"Here," Fleur said, cocking her head to gesture. She reached down, picking up his shirt with two fingers and tossing it lightly towards him. "Rough day?"

"Something like that," Draco muttered, picking it up from where it landed on the couch and struggling to pull it over his head. "Overdid it this morning, I guess."

"This _morning_ ," Fleur commented, glancing skeptically at Theo. "Mr Malfoy, I'm no expert, but that sounds problematic."

"I highly doubt there's anything you're not an expert in," Theo told her appreciatively, and she shrugged, returning her attention to her fingernails.

"Some things are just hobbies," she said, looking up to let her gaze flick suggestively over him. "Other things I make an effort to know more thoroughly."

"God, I'm going to enjoy this," Theo remarked, shaking his head. "Fuck me," he muttered with a sigh, glancing apologetically at Draco. "Bad timing."

"Yeah," Draco said, a hand on his forehead as he waved Theo away. "Just go. I'm - " he forced a swallow, squinting around for his keys. "Moving slowly."

"What happened to you?" Fleur asked, her arms crossed over her chest. As with her earlier conversation, the question was direct but not openly mocking. "Does this have to do with that phone call you took at Gringotts?"

"Yeah," Draco said again, hefting to his feet and then returning to the couch as his head spun, promptly disrupting his unsteady rising. "Fuck," he swore loudly, and Theo sighed.

"There's no way you can ride right now," he said, glancing at Fleur. "Your place?" he suggested.

"My whoring cunt of a roommate is there," Fleur said, making a face. "Tends to ruin things."

"I'm happy to fuck you in front of her," Theo offered, shrugging. "Or, you know, something else invasive. Seems like she sort of deserves it."

"You know, oddly, I find your obstinance a bit sweet," Fleur commented, reaching out to tug on one of his belt loops. "You're very manageably obnoxious."

"Yes," Theo agreed, "and full of dark joy."

"I'm going to fucking vomit," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not because of this," he added, waving a hand at them, "but it certainly doesn't help."

"Were you just drinking alone all day?" Fleur asked, letting Theo slide an arm around her waist and tug her beside him. "Or … longer?" she amended, eyeing the many bottles on the floor. "I mean, not to judge - "

"Everyone needs hobbies," Theo quipped.

" - but it just seems - " She paused, tilting her head. "Odd." She looked Draco up and down, searching him. "I sort of took you for the responsible type."

"I'm fine," Draco said, clearing his throat. "I just - " He shook his head. "I'm fine."

Theo paused for a moment, watching Draco closely before leaning over to brush Fleur's hair from her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. "Be right back," he murmured, slipping away to the kitchen.

"Well then," Fleur said, taking a seat beside Draco and daintily tucking her legs underneath her. "Might as well tell me what happened."

"Yes, because we're such good friends," Draco snapped, the effort of the emphatic retort rattling his brain to muddled pounding. "Sounds perfect."

"Well, you're clearly not going anywhere, and I'm clearly not having sex yet," she remarked. "So it seems like you'll have to, doesn't it?"

Draco sighed miserably, leaning back against the couch and consenting to let the room spin around him. "My - someone I knew," he said, amending the thought with another twinge of guilt. "She was killed last week. And then - " he shut his eyes, trying desperately not to think about Hermione; about her laugh, about the way it felt to hold her. About the way she was so fucking pure and he was just fucking _garbage -_

"And then that's it," he determined finally. "Just that first part."

"Ah, yes, what a true sounding story," Fleur remarked languidly, just as Theo returned from the kitchen.

"Water for you," he said, handing Draco a glass. "Advil on the table. For you," he said, turning to Fleur, "champagne."

"Champagne?" she asked, accepting the glass and sniffing it. "You're sure?"

Theo paused, grinning. "Sparkling wine," he amended. "Better?"

"I'm French," she said airily. "You need to be accurate about these things."

"Just drink it," he said, toasting her, "and permit me to share my various forms of expertise with you later."

"Hm," she primly agreed, as Draco caught a whiff of the alcohol from her glass and immediately fought the compulsion to gag.

"Fuck," he muttered, forcing the water down his throat. "What did I drink?"

"Everything," Theo supplied. "Minus the champagne." At Fleur's cough, he rolled his eyes. "Sparkling wine. Whatever."

"You'll need to recover," Fleur informed him, taking a sip from her glass. "Griphook's got a new shipment in this weekend. Based on the payments I've been handling for him," she added, raising one pale blonde brow, "you'll both be receiving instruction shortly."

"What is this, a client meeting?" Draco grumbled, groaning as some of the water spilled onto his shirt. "Fuck - "

"What do you mean based on the payments you've handled for him?" Theo asked, frowning at her as he took a seat on his coffee table and settled himself across from her. "You said that like it means something."

"Everything I say means something," Fleur reminded him, shifting to place her feet in his lap and smirking as Theo's eyes instantly drifted to the exposed skin of her thigh. "What's the question?"

"Why would you think we'd be called in?" Draco supplied, permitting Theo to enjoy his distraction. "Some shipment in particular?"

"No," she said, frowning slightly. "But considering how much Griphook's paying - "

"How much is he paying?" Draco interrupted, leaning forward and catching Theo's eye.

Fleur laughed a little, reclining in her seat to settle her legs on either side of Theo's hips. " _That's_ something to take up with your employer," she warned, shaking her head admonishingly at Draco. "Advice from one professional to another."

"You're a criminal," Theo reminded her playfully, sliding a hand up her calf.

"One criminal to another, then," Fleur conceded, shrugging. "Still, we both have our respective forms of etiquette." She jumped a little as Theo's hand slid up her leg but quickly hid the motion, brushing her lip along her glass as she continued to toy with him. "I'm not at liberty to discuss Griphook's finances."

"You've already said quite a bit," Draco informed her. "If you think Tom's got any sort of priority over Griphook's other buyers, then he clearly stands to make a shit ton of money off the Death Eaters."

Fleur inclined her head, neither denying nor confirming. "I find it's best to know who you work for," she commented lazily, glancing pointedly at him. "If you've got a problem with your boss, that's not my issue."

"You trust Griphook, then?" Theo asked, slowly lifting her leg to remove the strap of her left shoe.

"I run his books," Fleur reminded them, unfazed, before nudging her right foot against Theo's chest for him to remove the other shoe. "The best way to know what kind of man you're working for is to see how he spends his money."

"Are you saying you admire Griphook's purchases?" Draco asked, scoffing, and she shrugged.

"You mock me, but I know what I'm talking about," she told him. "Trust and money are both forms of currency, and if you can't see how a man dispenses one - " she cut herself off, inhaling sharply as Theo pulled her forward to settle her on his lap. "Then you can't be sure what he does with the other," she murmured, reaching up to put her hands on either side of Theo's face and moaning softly as he brought his lips to her neck.

"Well," Draco said, slapping his hands against his thighs as he promptly leaned forward. "I can see I'm going to have to recover elsewhere." He looked around, searching for his phone. "Have you seen - "

There was a muffled ringing from underneath the pillow beside him and Draco grunted his displeasure as he felt around for it, trying not to watch Fleur tug Theo's head back. She had her fingers tangled in his hair, giving him a slow, teasing kiss that gave Draco flashbacks to Hermione, to the look in her eyes when he touched her, to the image of his name on her lips, to the sounds she made when he -

"Hello?" he muttered, seeing his father's name on the screen and forcing himself to answer, grimacing in apology as Theo turned his head to arch one brow in disapproval.

"Draco," Lucius said, his voice clipped and businesslike. "I need you to go to the hospital."

"The - hospital," Draco repeated, feeling a lurch. "Why?"

"Slughorn called. Mulciber's been stabbed," Lucius explained; somewhat impatiently, as though Darian had done this with the intention of disrupting his day. "Tom and I are currently running an errand, but someone from the club should be there - "

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Draco said, swallowing as he rose to his feet, seeking out his keys. "I'll be right there. Where did it happen?"

"The shop," Lucius said. "Or something. Slughorn said it's gory," he added, in a way that Draco knew meant he was rolling his eyes. "Just get there and - I don't know, sign papers. Whatever. Cover up anything you have to," he added. "I've got Avery taking care of things at the shop."

Draco frowned. "What would I have to - "

"Just _go_ , Draco," Lucius snapped. "Take care of it."

"Dad," Draco half shouted, but the other line cut out. He stared momentarily at his phone before bending with a growl to pick up the Advil from the table, shaking three out of the bottle and shoving them in his mouth. "Darian was stabbed," he informed Theo, who had pulled away from Fleur long enough to turn questioningly to Draco. "I'm going to St Mungo's."

"What?" Theo asked, jerking forward with Fleur still on his lap. "Darian?"

"Yeah. Lucius didn't say anything useful," Draco said. "But I can call you, if - " He gestured to Fleur, shrugging. "You know."

"No, I - " Theo stopped, glancing at her and letting his face contort in indecision. "I'm so sorry," he exhaled, "really, you can't fucking _believe_ how sorry I am - "

"It's fine," Fleur said, rising gracefully to her feet as Theo awkwardly pulled at his jeans. "I've gathered by this point that you two enjoy taking mysterious phone calls and running off into the night."

Theo grimaced. "I know what it looks like, but I really, really - "

"Theo," she said, leaning forward to rest one hand on his shoulder. "We're in the same line of work. I understand that some phone calls must be taken," she offered smoothly, "and that some trips to the hospital cannot be avoided." She kissed him quickly, her hand sliding up to curve her thumb around his jaw. "However," she said brusquely, her hand slipping to tighten warningly around his neck, "if you don't fuck me to absolute satisfaction the next time I see you - "

"No need to threaten me," Theo assured her, letting her grip skate across his throat. "I'll happily off myself if that's the case, thanks."

"Are we going?" Draco interrupted, crossing his arms after throwing his cut over his shoulders. "You ready?"

"Fuck you," Theo said, groaning as he picked Fleur up with one arm and set her back on her feet. "Let's get out of here before I change my mind," he muttered, and Draco helpfully took hold of his shoulder, forcefully dragging him out the door.

* * *

"Fucking brutal," Dean said to Hermione with a low whistle, shutting the door behind him as he walked into the corridor. "It's been a long time since I've seen that much blood loss."

"Is it just blood loss?" Hermione asked, peering at the circle of doctors and paramedics through the window. "Internal injuries too?"

"Some," Dean said, shaking his head. "They're examining him and then we'll see, I guess."

"Who is he?" Hermione asked just as Harry strode up to her in uniform, looking simultaneously distressed and exhausted.

"Any word?" Harry asked, shaking his head in displeasure. "I hate that it was him."

"Who _is_ he?" Hermione pressed again, and Harry grimaced.

"Darian Mulciber," he supplied, and she shrugged blankly, not recognizing the name. "A Death Eater," Harry explained. "One of the better ones," he added, looking solemn. "One of the others found him half-dead at their shop."

"Jesus," Hermione said, biting her lip. "How bad?"

"Really bad," Harry replied, his mouth twitching. "You didn't see?" She shook her head. "Stab wound," Harry supplied. "But - "

"He's got something carved into his chest," Dean told her, looking sickened. "A word, or some letters - "

"Tom," Harry informed him flatly. "It's a name."

"Tom?" Hermione echoed. "Like - " She looked around, checking that nobody was listening. "Tom Riddle?"

Harry glanced sharply at her. "You know him?"

"I - no," Hermione said faintly, hurriedly shaking her head. "I mean, I met him once - "

"You _met_ him?" Harry repeated, turning to face her. "When?"

"I mean, it wasn't a big deal," Hermione told him. "He was at the hospital with one of Padma's patients, Nott - "

"Nott Senior?" Harry asked, pulling anxiously at the corners of his mouth as he frowned in concentration. "When was this?"

"I - I don't know - I guess last Friday?" she said, chewing her lip. "Early in the day."

"How long was he there?" Harry pressed, and she shook her head, a little startled by the urgency in his voice.

"I don't know," she stammered. "I could check the visitor logs - "

"No, no, I can do that myself," Harry murmured, shaking his head. "I just - " he looked up at her, frowning slightly. "Sorry," he assured her quickly. "I just - I had a theory about something, but it doesn't look like it's possible, so I guess - "

"Potter," Hermione heard from behind them, a voice that prompted her heart to twist in her chest.

She held her breath as Draco sidled up to Harry, his brow creased with worry. "What happened?" he asked, before suddenly catching sight of Hermione. She watched his eyes change as he noticed her, watched him swallow, saw him nearly flinch and half wondered if he would let himself reach out and -

"Darian was stabbed," Harry told him, shaking his head. "I had a feeling something would happen at the shop after the shit with the alarm - "

"I," Draco began, his attention still caught on her as he tore his gaze back to Harry's and forced a swallow. "I don't - "

"Potter," the younger Theodore Nott called, arriving a few steps behind Draco. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded, and Hermione frowned slightly, noticing a familiarity between the three of them that she didn't think had been there the last time she saw them interact.

"This," Harry said with another grimace, "is Greyback's work. Unquestionably."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Does that mean - "

"Later," Harry warned in a low voice, shaking his head. "But suffice it to say the name 'Tom' sliced into Mulciber's chest is more along the lines of the kinds of messages I was talking about from Greyback."

"Greyback," Dean interrupted in confusion, prompting the others to remember his presence. "The Knockturn druglord?"

Harry briefly shut his eyes, visibly kicking himself. "We shouldn't be discussing this right now," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Sorry, that was careless of me - "

He reached up, rubbing his forehead, and Hermione noticed again how tired he looked.

"Dean," Harry said absentmindedly as he gestured to Draco and Theo, "this is - "

"We know each other," Theo said, before looking down at Hermione. "But you are?"

"Nobody," she said quickly. "I just, um - "

"You need to talk to her," Harry said, giving Theo a meaningful glance. "She spoke to Tom last Friday."

"What?" Draco abruptly demanded, his voice several decibels too loud. "When? How?"

"I," she began, and then took a breath, remembering his warning; _promise me you'll be safe - promise me, Hermione -_ "Sorry," she said quickly, clearing her throat and meeting his eye. "You are?"

He blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Draco Malfoy," he said slowly, forcing it between gritted teeth before gesturing to Theo. "This is Theo Nott."

"Dr Granger," she informed them coolly, nodding to each of them before turning back to Harry. "And as I said, I'm not sure I have much to tell you without checking the visitor's log - "

"Deputy," they heard behind them, another Diagon PD officer arriving to tap Harry's shoulder. "I just need you to sign off on some of these, please - "

"Right, sorry," Harry agreed, turning away. "I'll find you in a minute," he said to Draco and Theo before leaning over to kiss Hermione's cheek. "Thanks, Hermione, sorry if I took too much of your time - "

"No problem," Hermione said, waving him away. "Anyway," she said, nodding in Dean's direction, "we have a patient who'll probably need surgery, so we should really get back to him."

"Take good care of him," Theo told her gruffly, nudging Draco in the ribs. "In the meantime, we should go see if they need anything," he suggested to Draco. "I think we have to - "

The words disappeared as Theo continued to speak over his shoulder, seeking out hospital staff; in the same moment Dean turned, distracted by a question from one of the nurses, and Hermione was alone with Draco for the span of a breath, the dull roar of the hospital reduced to static in her ears as she met his eye, suffering the familiar impact of them.

"I need to talk to you," Draco mouthed, his grey eyes flashing with urgency, and then Theo turned back around and time resumed.

" - probably should get, I don't know, insurance papers or whatever, so - "

"Dr Granger," Dr Pomfrey said, materializing at her side. "You'll be scrubbing in for this." She turned to walk down the corridor, gesturing behind her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, coming," Hermione said instantly, nodding quickly and turning to follow before skidding to a sudden pause. "If you need anything," she offered, giving Draco a meaningful glance over her shoulder. "I'll be available after the surgery to answer your questions."

He nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice chilled by forced courtesy.

The last thing she saw before she left for the OR was the familiar light that glinted from around the leather of his shoulders. She blinked away the pale glow of him, letting it warm her and curse her in a single blow as she forced herself to walk away.

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to hexmionegranger, for outstanding play-by-play reactions that always make my week.


	13. High Heat, No Sleep

**Chapter 13: High Heat, No Sleep**

The image of Hermione walking away from him shook him harder than the lingering headache that still thudded against his head, crawling around in his brain and taunting him, chattering with manic laughter. He watched her reach up as she walked, rubbing out an obvious cramp of exhaustion in her neck before taking a breath and throwing her shoulders back - but as she glanced at the surgeon beside her and nodded her recognition, Draco saw again what he'd witnessed in her that first night; that moment of sharpened concentration, the breathtaking intensity of her mind.

It was that moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life - the certainty that preempted the pull of a trigger. Watching her, he could hear a pin drop.

Draco felt a certain degree of shame at forgetting why he'd come - at knowing it was Darian's life that hung in the balance and yet he could only manage to focus on that spark in her eye - but he trusted her, somehow, despite knowing another surgeon likely held the scalpel. He trusted her presence. There was something about knowing she was there that made Draco, an unapologetic cynic, somehow hopeful; somehow eased.

After all, she'd saved him once, hadn't she?

"Hey," Potter said, interrupting Draco's thoughts and jogging over to them. "Sorry," he offered hastily, waving a hand. "Bureaucracy. Anyway," he continued, as though he hadn't just been absent for a considerable length of time, "as I was saying - "

"So you're saying this was Greyback," Draco supplied, crossing his arms. "You're sure?"

Potter nodded. "Positive," he said, and he certainly sounded convinced. "Call it a gut feeling," he conceded, "but I've got a pretty good gut."

"What about Astoria, then?" Theo asked, rising to his feet to join them. "You think that was someone different?"

Potter paused, hesitating. "I'd had a theory," he replied slowly, his mouth twitching into a frown. "Honestly, I thought it was Tom," he murmured, glancing somewhat sheepishly between them.

Theo and Draco looked at each other for a moment and then instinctively stepped closer, lowering their volume.

"You thought? Past tense?" Draco repeated, looking around; he knew Tom didn't _literally_ have ears everywhere, but still, it didn't seem safe to discuss at any reasonable volume. "You don't think so anymore?"

"Couldn't have been him," Potter ruled, shaking his head. "I checked - Hermione was right. He was here when it happened."

"Well, so it wasn't him _personally_ , then," Theo said brusquely. "It's not like Tom doesn't have plenty of other people who could have done it for him - "

"Everyone else is accounted for," Potter told him, shaking his head. "Every other Death Eater was either at the shop or here at the hospital," he added, gesturing pointedly to Theo, "like your dad, for example, which is who Tom was here to see."

Theo made a face of semi-predictable revulsion, and Draco shook his head. "You're sure?" Draco pressed. " _Everyone's_ accounted for? Even - " he hesitated, holding his breath slightly as he toed a somewhat indefinable line of betrayal. "Even Lucius?"

Potter grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't take this personally, Malfoy, but I checked him out first," he muttered. "He was at the shop with the others."

"Oh, sure, that's not personal," Draco muttered sarcastically. "Let me just let that one slide - "

"Avery, then? Or Rowle?" Theo cut in, but Potter shook his head again.

"Only two people are unaccounted for, and that's the two of _you_ ," he said pointedly, gesturing between Draco and Theo. "Care to tell me what you were up to?"

They exchanged a loaded glance; Gringotts wasn't particularly an answer they wanted to give.

"No, we do not," Theo supplied flatly, as Draco bent to rub his temple, clearing his throat.

"You know it wasn't us," Draco reminded Potter. "No point wasting our fucking time." He glanced up, feeling his expression contort skeptically in response to the passive accusation. "And anyway, who's to say it wasn't Slughorn?"

Potter's eyes flashed momentarily, scowling. "You really think a Diagon police officer would do that? You think he would _kill someone_ ," he said emphatically, "and then turn around and lie about it to your face?"

"Uh, _yeah_ ," Theo countered bitterly, scoffing. "It's not like Slughorn's some kind of paragon of virtue, Potter - "

Potter shook his head, unyielding. "Still," he muttered. "There's a pretty fucking big difference between murder and - " he broke off, shaking his head. "I don't know. Conspiracy, I guess."

"A dirty cop is a dirty cop," Draco countered, shrugging. "Either a man's got a conscience or he doesn't."

"Oh really," Potter retorted drily. "You, Malfoy," he remarked pointedly, "who can't even tell me what you were doing while Astoria was killed - _you're_ going to tell me that your conception of a conscience should somehow take precedence in this situation?"

"I've got a fucking code, okay?" Draco sniped back. "Clearly Slughorn doesn't - and what a shock that is," he added sarcastically, "considering what an upstanding citizen Horace Slughorn has always been - a truly unerring public servant - "

"Is this really about Slughorn?" Potter demanded, cutting him off and rounding on him. "Or is this what you think about me, Malfoy? _I'm_ a cop, in case you've forgotten," he hissed quietly, his hand going instinctively to his badge. "And _I'm_ consorting with Death Eaters too, apparently - so does that make me equally suspect?"

"Oh, fuck off, Potter," Theo said, scowling. "You know that's different."

"How?" Potter said, throwing his hands in the air. "What exactly makes me any different from Slughorn in your sophisticated criminal minds?" he prompted obnoxiously.

" _We_ are fucking different," Draco returned, pointing to himself and Theo and feeling his color rise in frustration. " _We_ are not Tom Riddle, and that's the fucking crux of the issue, isn't it?"

"If you're really so different from him, then prove it. Tell me where you were," Potter shot back. "Just tell me what the fuck you were doing that day so you have a goddamn _alibi_ \- "

"This is not helpful," Draco cut in flatly. "I don't want to tell you where I was any more than you want to hear it, Potter - "

"Fucking fantastic," Potter muttered.

" - and whatever larger philosophical point you're trying to make here, the fact remains that you know perfectly well that we didn't do it," Draco added, "and now we're just wasting our time pointing fingers."

"Agreed," Theo sniffed. "Ask your ' _pretty good'_ gut, Potter," he added irreverently, "as I'm sure it will happily remind you that it probably _wasn't_ the two people that came to their cop nemesis for help, despite the fact that their boss would probably blow a - _fuck_ ," he growled, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Hold on - "

"Cop nemesis," Potter repeated, shaking his head as Theo glanced down and frowned, wandering away to take the call. "That's really what you think of me?"

It wasn't, Draco knew, but he hardly had the time to wade into semantics.

"What do you want me to say?" Draco prompted brusquely, foregoing any attempt to ease the situation. "That I like you? Or," he said, laughing coldly, "that I wanted to be friends with you because I fucking … admire your ethics or something?"

Potter stiffened, but seemed to think better of making a response, shutting his eyes briefly and then letting out a heavy sigh.

"You know what, fine," Potter said. "Listen, I'll just let you know if I hear about anything else, and in the meantime - " he waved a hand carelessly. "Fuck it. Whatever. It's late," he muttered. "I'm going home." He turned, starting to walk away before thinking of something; Draco waited, but Potter seemed to have thought better of it. "We'll talk later," Potter tossed over his shoulder, picking up speed as he headed towards the hospital exit.

"Great," Draco drawled after him, looking up in time to see Tom walking through the door with Lucius, both men eyeing Potter's exiting form with suspicion before glancing at each other, shaking their heads.

"Hey," Draco called to his father, trying immediately to act normal. "You're here."

"Just stopping by before we head to the shop," Tom said, adjusting his leather cut. "How's Darian?"

"In surgery," Draco replied. "No word yet."

"Are you alone?" Lucius asked, looking around.

"No, Theo was here," Draco said, gesturing in the direction he'd disappeared. "He took a call, I guess - "

"Probably about Amelia Bones, I imagine," Lucius muttered. "Goyle's all worked up about it, which certainly bodes for an irritating evening." He exchanged a look with Tom, who smirked slightly.

"About those threats she's been getting, you mean?" Draco asked, frowning. "Did she get another one?"

"She's dead," Tom said, shrugging. "Killed."

"What?" Draco asked, stunned at the ease with which he said it. "When?"

"Sometime earlier this evening," Lucius supplied. "Slughorn was called away to deal with it, which is why we had you come here for Darian."

Draco shifted, his gaze flicking to Tom before he spoke. "You can't tell me you're not worried about this," he said carefully, his frown deepening. "I mean - first there's Darian, and now this?"

"Amelia Bones is a highly divisive judge," Tom said flippantly, meeting Draco's eye without hesitation. "I doubt the two are connected."

"Well, _just_ Darian, then," Draco pressed. "Surely you're aware that's Greyback's work? Even if you're discounting what happened to Astoria - "

"Draco," Lucius cautioned stiffly, but Tom shrugged.

"It certainly seems as though it could be Fenrir," Tom conceded slowly, and then arched one brow. "Are you suggesting I sleep with one eye open, Draco?"

"I'm certainly not suggesting you sleep especially soundly," Draco remarked darkly, pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Or that any of us should, for that matter. If this is turning into some kind of turf war - "

"It's not," Tom assured him, somewhat dispassionately. "It's merely a foolish attempt at retribution."

"Foolish attempt?" Draco echoed. "Tom, Mulciber's got your fucking name sliced into his _chest,_ " he reminded him. "Personally, I don't think I'd whittle that down to foolishness - "

Tom shrugged again, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "I've dealt with this type of aggression before," he said. "In my experience it is unilaterally unwise, and ultimately fruitless, to exact any sort of inadvisable pursuit of vengeance." He paused, smiling his wolfish smile. "Against me, anyway."

"Still," Draco pressed, and Lucius shook his head. "You can't possibly - "

"Draco," Tom interrupted slowly, pivoting to face him. "You seem to be quite adamant about what I can and cannot do."

 _Unilaterally unwise,_ Draco heard clanging around in his head, _ultimately fruitless -_

"I'm worried about the club," Draco insisted stubbornly, despite the presence of his better judgment. "I don't like the idea that one of us is in a fucking _operating room_ getting ripped apart and stitched back together." He paused, glaring at Tom. "Do you, Tom?"

Tom didn't react. "No," he said slowly. "And I'm sure we can both agree, Draco, that neither of us wants to see another Death Eater suffer." He arched a brow warningly. "In any case, I'm the president of this club, and it's my responsibility to make certain that we are protected. It is not, despite what you seem to insistently believe," he added pointedly, with a sour twist of disapproval, "your job to doubt me. In fact," he continued, his volume rising slightly as something flashed in his blue eyes, "I would imagine that - "

"Mr Malfoy," Draco heard Hermione say, and promptly felt his stomach plummet to the base of his abdomen. "Oh," she remarked, "and Mr Riddle."

Draco held his breath at that, remembering with a pang why he'd needed to speak to her.

"Ah, Dr Granger," Tom said, instantly painting a pleasant smile on his face as he turned to her. "Didn't I say to call me Tom?"

* * *

Daphne was still awake when Harry came home, flipping blankly through the channels. He took note of her on the couch but said nothing, heading straight for the kitchen with the aim of finishing the Chinese takeout he knew was in the fridge from last night.

Or was it two days ago? He shook his head, pulling the container out of the fridge and digging out a corresponding set of chopsticks.

"Hey," Daphne said, materializing in the entrance to the kitchen. "Don't eat that."

He paused, a couple of noodles hanging limply above the container as he looked at her. She hadn't spoken to him outside of monosyllabic words in at least three days.

"I made you that," she said, gesturing behind him; Harry turned, noticing for the first time that there was a pot on the stove, and that it contained something that looked like a simple stir fry, the glass lid still pebbled with condensation. "Thought you could use a break from the shit you're always eating."

"Oh," he said blankly, setting down the container of takeout. "I - " He paused, uncertain what to say. "Thank you."

She gave him one of her dainty, ambiguous shrugs. "Least I can do," she commented blandly, and then she turned to leave.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to take hold of her wrist; he missed slightly, catching the tips of her fingers before settling his arm at his side. "Why did you - " he waved to the pot. "You know." He shrugged. "Why?"

She seemed displeased with the question.

"Dunno," she said evasively. "You just looked stressed earlier, and - " She shrugged again. "Let's just say I feel bad," she suggested. "And then maybe we can agree that you don't have to put me through the trauma of having to explain why."

"Fair," he agreed, nodding at her. She stood quietly for a minute, toying with her long ponytail as she leaned against the counter.

"You look upset," she commented, searching his face.

"I'm just tired," he lied.

" _I'm_ tired," she corrected him. " _You're_ something else."

He sighed. "If you're tired, go to bed."

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going. I just needed to - " She trailed off, gesturing to the stove. "You know. Feed you."

"Feed me," Harry echoed vacantly, and then nodded, trying to pull himself together. "Yeah." He cleared his throat, tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, well, you could have just left a note or something."

She hesitated.

"I wanted to wait up for you," she murmured eventually, glancing at her feet.

He tilted his head. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is this an official interrogation, Officer?" she asked, fixing him with her disarming stare.

He caught himself smiling. "I'm just asking."

She slid her palms back, lifting herself up to perch on the kitchen counter. "How about this," she said, crossing one ankle neatly over the other. "You tell me what you're upset about, and I'll tell you why I stayed up."

"Seems like a bit of an unfair trade," Harry commented.

"Is it?" she prompted, quirking a brow. "You seem awfully interested to me."

He squinted at her for a moment - gauging her intent - before sighing in tacit consent, reaching into his fridge for two beers and holding one up to offer it to her. She nodded and he opened both, shifting to stand beside her and handing her a bottle as he leaned against the counter.

"Malfoy and Nott won't tell me where they were the day that - " he hesitated, glancing up at her. "That day," he murmured.

Daphne shrugged, unsurprised. "They're Death Eaters," she reminded him, taking a sip. "They'll never tell you what they were doing - just like Draco never told Astoria where he was or what he was up to, and just like my father never told us."

"And that's just … okay with you?" Harry pressed, watching for a reaction.

"No," Daphne said listlessly, "but it's what their life is like. Everybody has secrets," she added. "Draco and Theo are just protecting theirs."

Harry let out a muttered grunt of disapproval. "They want me to trust them," he argued, "but they don't trust me."

Daphne permitted a prim scoff of a laugh, shaking her head at him. "Theo and Draco don't trust anyone but each other," Daphne told him wryly. "And anyway, you're _the law,_ " she added, giving him a brief sidelong glance. "You're the _last_ person they can tell what they're up to - and that has more to do with not wanting to go to prison than it does with trust."

Harry groaned, shaking his head as he tipped his beer back, taking a long swallow. "I thought it would be easier here," he muttered tangentially, wallowing in his disappointment. "Diagon was supposed to have less crime, less violence, less _shit -_ "

"Ha," Daphne remarked, the sound trapping in the bottle.

" - but instead, I just don't know who anyone is anymore," Harry continued, suddenly feeling a rush of frustration. "I mean, okay, the police chief is bad, but the Death Eaters are good - but then they're _not_ ," he added hotly, "as they won't come clean about what they're up to - "

"Mm," Daphne agreed.

" - and so where the fuck does that leave me?" Harry demanded, conscious of his rising volume and deciding he didn't care. "I mean, _tell me,_ " he added, laughing. "Tell me who the good guys are in this fucking town, because I really don't know." He shook his head, taking a long sip from his beer. "I just don't fucking know anymore," he murmured, reaching up to rub wearily at his temple.

They both took a sip of their beers, marinating in silence.

"It's supposed to be easy," Harry lamented eventually. "I took an oath. Protect and serve." He laughed into his bottle again, shaking his head. "Suddenly that just feels like absolute bullshit."

He looked down, staring at his feet; Daphne sighed, leaning over to take the beer out of his hands.

"Come here," she said, pulling him towards her. Harry shifted obediently, turning to face her where she sat on the counter. "You want to know who the good guys are?" she asked, her dark lashes falling against her cheek as she blinked expectantly at him. "It's you," she said, gripping his shoulder. " _You're_ the good guy."

"No I'm not," he replied, wanting to laugh again, but she shook her head, silencing him.

"Ask me why I stayed up," she said, and he sighed, indulging her.

"Why?"

"Because," she said slowly, setting her own bottle down to take hold of both his shoulders. "Because I feel better when you're here. Because when you're here, I feel safe, and because I feel less alone."

She paused, looking saddened. "I'm sorry that I - " she blushed, and they both looked down, remembering their encounter the few nights prior. "I'm just sorry," she murmured, forcing a smile. "But I want you to know that I do appreciate you taking me in, and I - I'm glad you did," she added. "Because when you're here, I feel like things might be okay."

He paused, staring at her, before noticing he'd been holding his breath.

"I want to kiss you," he realized aloud, frowning slightly. "But," he continued, "I shouldn't. You're vulnerable," he added, half to himself. "I shouldn't take advantage of you."

She stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head.

"How many times," she said quietly, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards her, "have I told you that I can take care of myself, Officer?"

"Don't," he warned her, his mouth suddenly dry as he stepped between her legs. "I can tell you right now that I won't want to stop."

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I don't want to stop," she whispered.

"Tell me to go," he instructed, trying to sound firm.

She leaned forward, her lips brushing his. "Stay," she told him.

He closed his eyes. "Tell me to go to bed, Daphne."

She kissed him softly, her fingers twining through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Take me to bed," she said, and he let out a sound that was half a growl, half a withheld whimper as he kissed her back, reaching up to take hold of her ponytail and giving it a swift tug, bringing his lips to the exposed line of her neck.

"Why now?" he asked her, grazing his teeth against her throat. "Why me?"

She caught his face with one hand, sliding her hips forward against the counter to meet his. "Just help me forget," she murmured, and he slipped one arm around her ribs, lifting her just enough to slip his free hand under the thin fabric of her shorts, sliding it along the curve of her thigh.

"That's probably not healthy for you," he told her, and she kissed him again, slipping her tongue along his as she reached somewhat brusquely for his hand.

"It's what I want," she murmured back, taking his hand and placing it against her slit, gripping the back of his head tighter as he took her clit between his fingers. "You're not a shrink, Potter," she added, a slight hiss escaping between her teeth at his touch, "you're a fucking cop."

"Still not technically a good occupational move," he muttered, but he slid two fingers into her despite his better judgment because he _wanted to_ ; because he wanted to hear the moan that slipped from her lips, because he wanted to feel her against him, because he was dying to know if she was as perfect as he imagined -

 _And she was_ , he thought with bitter satisfaction, feeling her move against his fingers and craving more of her, wanting overwhelmingly to taste her, to feel her, to make her come undone.

She reached forward, frantically pulling at his belt and then his uniform and as he moved to help her she raised her hips, slipping out of her underwear and then pulling him against her.

For a moment he stared at her, at the perfection of her face; at the brief wave of vulnerability that manifested in a single quiver of her lip.

"Please, Harry," she whispered.

He gave in, burying himself inside her with a gasp that gave way to a sigh, to the softest possible breath of _Daphne_ \- to the sort of longing that he knew was inescapable the moment he'd touched her lips.

He pulled at the loose neckline of her shirt, sliding his tongue over the silk of her breasts, holding her close, _keeping_ her close; wanting her, devouring her, worshipping her.

"Stay," he begged her, the word softening as it reached her lips.

She nodded, breathless, and then she threw her head back, letting his name pass through her lips in a quiet, beatific moan.

* * *

It felt like days before Hermione made her way to the waiting room, trying to pace her steps; it was remarkable, she thought, that she could maintain such a steady hand when it came to skin and blood and bone and yet the moment she saw Draco's face - saw the glow of him that even the fluorescent lights could not diminish - she felt a hitch in her breath, a moment of weakness in her knees. She watched the subtle coolness of his eyes, watched the line of his mouth, and then she watched the subtly tightened angle of his jaw as he listened to Tom speak.

"Mr Malfoy," she said carefully, forcing herself to smile; a shadow of something tragic slid across his face as he looked at her, pained by the sound of his name on her lips. "Oh, and Mr Riddle," she added, nodding politely to him.

"Ah, Dr Granger," Tom said, turning to her with an abruptly manufactured smile. "Didn't I say to call me Tom?"

"Right, of course - Tom," Hermione assured him, focusing on him to avoid staring at Draco. She noticed Draco was fidgeting with his hands, the familiar letters that were tattooed on his fingers becoming stark against his knuckles as he curled them into fists. "Are you here for Mr Mulciber as well?"

"How is he?" a third man asked. Hermione realized with a jolt that he was probably Draco's father; he shared the same pale features, the same blond hair - though he wore his pulled into a low bun at the back of his head - and the same crest, the scripted _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ tattooed across what she could see of his bicep.

"We repaired most of the damage to his chest," she said, glancing between him and Tom. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the good news is that his internal organs weren't affected for the most part. It'll be a difficult recovery, but since we were able to stop the bleeding within a reasonable time period, I _think_ ," she ventured hesitantly, careful to avoid constricting promises, "that if he makes it through the night, he'll be okay."

Draco nodded, letting out a sharp sigh of relief. "Good," he said, as though a considerable weight had been lifted. "Thanks, Doc," he murmured, not looking at her as he said it. She felt a flush of warmth run over her shoulders, trickling helplessly down her spine.

"Not a problem," she said, aiming for a reassuring but impartial kindness. "You're welcome to see him in the morning," she added to all three of them, "but for now - "

"We should probably go," the blond man said, glancing at Tom. "One more errand to run."

"True," Tom said, nodding at him. "Well, Dr Granger," he said, smiling benevolently at her, "you've once again come through for someone I consider family. I'm beginning to think the Death Eaters might owe you a considerable debt."

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I'm just doing my job, Mr Rid- Tom," she corrected herself quickly, wanting to avoid his unnerving stare. "And I really just assisted in the surgery, so - "

"You give yourself too little credit," Tom declared, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Doesn't she, Draco?"

Draco bristled slightly at his touch, forcing a smile. "She certainly does," he said quietly, and she felt the blow of his gaze, forcing herself to breathe normally as she struggled to return the smile.

"Well," Tom said briskly, promptly breaking the spell as he gave Draco's shoulder a firm pat. "Shall we go, then?"

"I think I'll wait," Draco said quickly, not breaking eye contact with Hermione. "I'll stay the night, I think, in case something happens."

"Fine," the blond man agreed impassively, already turning towards the door. "Call us, then, if anything comes up."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, glancing momentarily at him. "Thanks, Dad."

 _Ah,_ Hermione thought, sneaking a second glance at him. _Knew it._

"Well, perhaps I'll see you again soon, Dr Granger," Tom said, smiling at her. "I find I have a fondness for people who deliver me good news, which you have a tendency to do."

"Luck of the draw," she assured him, careful not to react to Draco's immediate look of displeasure. "But Dr Patil is attending to Mr Nott, and once Mr Mulciber recovers - "

"We'll see, then," Tom said, cutting her off with a sharpness that momentarily took her by surprise before his lips promptly twisted upwards, resuming his clever grin. "Until next time. Draco," he added, nodding to him, and then he gestured for Draco's father, promptly heading for the door.

"Well," Hermione exhaled slowly, watching them go. "That was - "

"I need to talk to you," Draco said urgently, leaning towards her. "Right now."

"We _are_ talking," Hermione said, lifting one brow, but Draco shook his head.

"Not here," he said, glancing around. "Ah, fuck - Theo," he muttered, catching sight of him re-entering the waiting room and promptly taking hold of her wrist, pulling her behind him into one of the hospital corridors.

Hermione sighed, too tired to resist. "Wha- "

"What are you doing talking to Tom?" Draco suddenly demanded, his pale brow furrowed as he turned to face her. "Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?"

"No," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why," she added drily, giving him a look. "Do you finally want to give me some information other than 'trust me, you don't want to know'?"

He had the decency to cringe slightly. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I know I've been - "

"Confusing? Withholding?" She pursed her lips, glancing dubiously at him. "A bit of an utter fuckstick?"

He paused, grimacing. "I know," he decided, opting not to choose a descriptive phrase. "But can we _please_ ," he begged, "go somewhere private?" He looked imploringly at her, the frustration in his brow melting to concern as his grey eyes searched her face. "Please," he said quietly, and she sighed in resignation, taking his hand to pull him into the on-call room at the end of the hall.

"Look," she said, putting her hands on her hips and turning to face him as the door locked behind them. "I can't avoid talking to him, okay? He's a patient. I mean, I get that he's clearly in charge of your little - _club,_ " she added, making a face at him, "which, by the way, is seeming less and less innocent with every time I see you - "

"It's not innocent," he told her, cutting her off abruptly. " _I'm_ not innocent."

"I - " she stopped, caught off guard. For some reason, she had expected him to deny it. "What happened to 'my secrets are barely skin deep'?" she demanded, glaring at him.

"Listen," he sighed, "as much as I love it when you quote me - "

"Don't," she warned, rolling her eyes.

"I told you I was bad for you," he reminded her, taking a step towards her. "I've always said that."

"Fine, so you're bad for me," she said, carelessly waving a hand. "Whatever." He cut her off, taking hold of her fingers and shaking his head.

"It's not a joke," he murmured. "You remember how we met, don't you?" he asked her, sliding his fingers through hers. She sighed, feeling a frustrating sense of relief in the cool slip of his palm against hers.

"If you mean do I remember inadvisably pulling a bullet out of your shoulder, then yes," she said, feigning irritability. "But I don't see how that - "

"You like adventure," he interrupted, and she fought a smirk. _Adrenaline junkie._ "Don't think I've forgotten why this happened. But _I_ am not the kind of adventure you can come back from," he warned her. "I'm a lot more dangerous now than I was when we met, and - _and,_ " he added emphatically, "you really do need to stay the fuck away from Tom."

"Why?" she asked. "Why are you telling me this? And _why,_ " she added, retracting her fingers from his and swatting his hand away, "did you give me a goddamn _gun_?"

This time, he decidedly did not have the decency to look sheepish. "I want you to be safe," he insisted stubbornly, setting his jaw. "I had to do something."

"Then why not just stay with me?" she demanded, before pausing as she realized what she'd said. "I mean," she corrected hastily, "I know it was just sex, but - "

"It wasn't," he murmured, shaking his head. "You know it wasn't."

She looked up at him, realizing she had held her breath.

"It was," she forced out definitively, either to punish him or herself - or both. "It was _just sex_ , and you've made it clear that it's over now," she added, feeling a pang at the reminder, "so you can't just run around my place of work telling me who I can't talk to."

He seemed to slightly careen backwards, stung. "What?"

She sighed. "I _said,_ you can't just come here telling me who to - "

"Not that," he said, swallowing. She looked away.

"It's over," she repeated. "Obviously." She forced herself to meet his eye. " _You're_ the one who said you couldn't stay."

"Right," he said, letting out a breath. "Yes," he conceded, briefly closing his eyes. "I know."

She waited a moment, fidgeting.

"As far as I know," she began tangentially, "Tom is just a person who has the unfortunate luck of being friends with people who keep ending up in the hospital. So unless you want to tell me what the hell you've gotten yourself into," she said pointedly, "I can't just avoid him."

"Yeah, I realize that," Draco said, somewhat unsteadily. "But I - "

"If I'm in danger, you need to tell me," she said firmly. "I mean, what exactly have you been doing? Are you in trouble?" she pressed, staring up at his face; his expression was unreadable, but entirely fixated on her mouth. "And what kind of trouble? And if you are, then does that mean - " she cut herself off, shaking her head as she met his eye. "Stop looking at me like that!" she demanded, glaring at him.

A smile pulled at his lips. "Like what?"

She felt her breath catch, taking a step back. "Like you're already taking my clothes off," she muttered, feeling her cheeks flush.

She waited for him to laugh, but he didn't. He took a step towards her, the backs of her knees colliding with the bed behind her.

"You look tired," he commented, tucking back a loose strand from her ponytail and leaning forward, his lips next to her ear. "How are you sleeping without me?"

"Not well," she admitted, swallowing. "There's a gun in my nightstand." She inhaled sharply, feeling the stubble on his jaw brush against her cheek. "Makes it hard to sleep knowing someone out there thinks I might have to use it."

"Oh, Doc," he lamented, sliding his thumb along her jaw. "I've ruined your life, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have," she replied stiffly, not moving as his lips brushed her neck. "Before you I never had to worry about anything except, you know." She swallowed again, her throat suddenly exceedingly dry. "Medicine."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his fingers dropping to trace the waistband of her scrubs. "And now you have so many problems."

"So many," she agreed, closing her eyes. "I'm addicted to those bagels," she said in his ear, fighting a moan as he pulled at the ties of her scrubs. "I own a gun, and I can't stop eating bagels."

"God, fuck," he said in her ear. "I've ruined you completely."

"You have," she said, tugging at his belt loops. "And the worst part is - " she broke off as he brushed his lips against hers, the barest hint of a kiss. "The worst part," she said into his mouth, "is that you - " she stopped again, accommodating another kiss; more insistent this time. "You - "

"I miss you," he said, taking her face in his hands and cutting her off. "I miss your face," he whispered, staring at her. "I miss your dick speeches."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut u- "

"I miss you," he said again, coaxing her back onto the bed and removing her shoes, pulling the scrubs down after them and then kneeling at her feet, nudging her legs over his shoulders. "I miss this scar," he said, kissing the mark on her knee from when she'd split it open once; five stitches, however many years ago. "I miss - " he paused as she gasped a little, his tongue sliding against the cotton of her underwear. "That," he murmured, looking up to give her a punishingly arrogant smirk. "I miss that sound you make." He slid his thumb under the material, watching her face as he pushed the fabric aside, stroking the slickness at her slit.

"Draco," she began; _we shouldn't_ , she tried to say, but she was already enraptured, staring at him, caught up in the way he didn't take his eyes from hers.

"I miss the way you taste," he murmured, and she lifted her hips, letting him lure the underwear down her legs and toss it to the side, his fingers spreading her apart as he pressed his lips against her and then slid his tongue inside her, his fingers digging into her hips. She reached down, taking hold of his hair and arching her back, letting him pulse against her. She closed her eyes and he slipped his fingers inside her, reaching his free hand up to slide under her shirt, under her bra, rolling her nipple between his fingers. She gasped, reaching down to grab his forearm, digging her heels in against his back and then simmering, rippling, erupting -

"I miss making you come," he rasped and she yanked his mouth against hers as she let out a moan, pulling him against her. She fumbled with his jeans, haphazardly pulling them down the curve of his backside and yanking him towards her, the matter of seconds it took to feel him inside her seeming more torturous than ever, exquisitely agonizing in the desperation of her need.

 _I miss you,_ she wanted to say out loud, but she told him in the pressure of her fingers on his neck, twisting into his hair. _I miss you every day,_ she thought as he twined his fingers in hers, pushing her hands above her head. _I don't care what you did,_ she thought foolishly, _I don't care what you've done_ ; and then, for a moment, a tiny piece of her whispered _I don't care what will happen to me -_

"Hermione," he said, her name escaping in little more than a whisper, like he was trading it for a breath, and she felt herself shatter, awash in ruin and wreckage as she sank her teeth in his shoulder, fighting an audible cry. He shuddered and fell against her, pressing his forehead to hers, and for a moment there was a deafening silence as the realization of what they'd done settled around them, dusting them in recklessness while the world raged on outside.

It seemed like years before they moved, before he pulled her against him and rested her head on his chest, stroking her hair.

"Just tell me something," she whispered. "Anything. Just - _something_ ," she begged him, closing her eyes. "Something real."

He swallowed, hesitating. "I thought you preferred me as an enigma," he murmured.

She wanted to laugh, she thought, or sob.

Or both.

"One thing," she pleaded again, and he pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair.

"This isn't sex," he told her, the words muffled. "It's something else," he sighed, running his hand down her spine, gathering her tension in the tips of his fingers. "Something a thousand times worse."

"I know," she whispered, but she kissed him anyway.

She'd been fucked from that very first stitch.

* * *

 **a/n:** it's occurring to me that if you haven't read _Youth_ then you probably don't get why we're all upset for Darian (all being mostly me and Sally but there's a small but loyal crew) so just trust me when I assure you that we don't really want him to bleed out. Dedicated to brigittar! Missed you, girl.


	14. Brotherhood

**Chapter 14: Brotherhood**

"Greg, man, I'm sorry," Theo said, shaking his head. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Susan's fucked up over this, Theo," Greg muttered into the phone. "I don't know how to help her other then promising her we'll look into it. And I can't do that without you and Draco."

Theo shook his head, pacing the hospital corridor. "You have to talk to Draco, then, not me. I've got no influence with Tom - "

"I don't want Tom on this," Greg said, growling slightly. "There's a reason I'm not calling him."

"Still," Theo pressed. "This is something you need to bring up to Draco. If he's in, then - "

"You fucking know he's not in," Greg snapped. "He's only in if you talk him into it."

"So - what, then, you want me to convince him?" Theo asked, scoffing. "Fuck, Greg, we've sort of got a lot on our plates right now. I can't make promises."

"I'm not asking for promises, Theo," Greg said. "I just know that if anyone's going to make sense of what happened, it's going to be you two."

"Fuck," Theo muttered under his breath. "Fine. I'll talk to him." He wandered back into the waiting room, looking around for him. "Don't know where he is, but - "

"I gotta go, Nott," Greg interrupted. "Susan, she's - she's really upset. Her aunt was important to her."

"Yeah, I got it," Theo sighed. "I'll talk to Draco and we'll see what we can do, okay?"

"Thanks," Greg said, clearing his throat. "I really appreciate it, Theo."

"Yeah," Theo muttered, hanging up and tucking his phone in his pocket. He looked around, rubbing his eyes as he sought out Draco in the waiting room; nothing.

 _Fuck,_ he thought wearily, trying to ignore the exhaustion throbbing in his bones. To think he'd started the night hoping it would end somewhere completely different.

He thought of Fleur for a moment and felt something that was both an immediate rush of warmth in his chest and a disturbing throb of his cock, still tense from her ungodly skill at foreplay. He shook himself of the thought, beginning to wander the hospital until he finally gave in to the incessant tapping of his conscience, heading up to his father's room for a distraction.

"Dad," he said quietly, opening the door and slipping inside. "Hey."

Theodore Nott Sr had been sleeping, but he cracked one eye as Theo shut the door quietly behind him. His father groaned incoherently, shifting slightly in the hospital bed.

"What the fuck," Nott rasped, promptly interrupting himself with a loud, unsettling cough, "are _you_ doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Dad," Theo remarked, falling into the chair beside his bed and propping his feet up beside his father. "Things going well?"

"Fuck off," Nott muttered, but he pursed his lips, eyeing Theo. "So gracious of you to stop by, Theodore."

"Mulciber was stabbed," Theo informed him, waving absently in the direction of the ER. "Showed up a few hours ago." He paused, eyeing his hands. "Has Riddle mentioned anything to you about the Greyback fiasco?"

"He mentioned you fucked it up, yeah," Nott supplied crisply, closing his eyes. "So this is Greyback's doing, then?"

"We think so," Theo replied, glossing over the insult. "Though it may not be the only thing Greyback's been up to."

"Yeah, well, he likes to keep busy," Nott grunted. "That's been true far longer than you've even been alive."

"And I suspect it will continue long after I'm dead," Theo added. At his father's low huff of disapproval, Theo looked up, meeting his eye. "What?"

"You're a young man still, Theo," Nott said. "Stop being so goddamn dramatic."

Theo arched a brow. "With all this shit going on, you really think I'm going to live long enough to let" - he waved a hand over his father - "heart problems and cigarettes kill me? No," Theo spat. "It'll be a gun or a knife, and it'll be almost entirely my fault. I'm certain of it."

"God, you're a peach," Nott remarked gruffly, and Theo, for whatever reason, laughed.

"Look, it's not like I've got an actual death wish," he clarified. "Just a healthy sense of reality. People are getting shot, getting stabbed." He shrugged. "One of these days they'll come for me - whoever ' _they_ ' ends up being."

Nott shrugged. "Better that you don't go out this way, anyway," he said, drawing a hand up to gesture to his oxygen tube. "I tell you what, this is a shitty way to go."

"You're not dying either," Theo said flatly. "Riddle tells me you've been doing fine."

"Maybe for now, but I'm still _dying_ ," Nott retorted. "Maybe not as fast as you'd like, but - "

"Oh, don't give me that shit," Theo said, rising to his feet. "I don't know what the fuck you want from me." He walked to the door, shaking his head as he paused with his back to his father. "I've never fucking understood."

Nott permitted silence to flood the space between them before speaking again.

"You blame me for something," his father said eventually, as though he genuinely didn't know what it could be; though, for the first time, it occurred to Theo that he really might not. "You hate me, Theodore, for some reason that I don't fucking understand," he growled, "so don't you turn around and act like it's _me_ who wants something from _you_ \- "

"Yes," Theo cut in, throwing his hands up and turning to face his father. "I blame you for this life, Dad. I blame you for never giving me a choice," he spat, "for never giving me a _chance -_ "

"You could have walked away anytime," Nott reminded him stiffly. "Your mother did. I didn't stop her, and I wouldn't have stopped you."

"No," Theo snapped, shaking his head. "No, I couldn't have, because you made me love it. You taught me to love the rush, to love the _ride_ ," he said bitterly. "To love being reckless and stupid, just like you were. You taught me to respect the brotherhood, to be willing to die for it. But now," he continued painfully, "now that I actually _might_ , I'm realizing that I don't know if I ever believed in it the way you did. Or hell, even the way Draco does." He closed the few strides to the edge of his father's hospital bed, staring at him. "You taught me that if I love the club, I have to love its leader. But Tom Riddle is a fucking _psychopath_ \- "

"Watch your mouth, Theo," Nott interrupted, brandishing a finger at him and cutting him off mid-rant. "Don't make this about something that it's not."

Theo felt the corners of his mouth tighten angrily, tasting blood as he bit his tongue.

"Fine," he said, turning sharply to reach the door. He paused, his fingers gripping the handle as he shook his head, staring at it. "And I don't fucking hate you," he forced out, throwing the door open and passing through the frame without another word.

Theo strode back into the waiting room and looked around, still not seeing Draco. He sank into one of the many vacant chairs and pulled out his phone, looking for a distraction.

 _ **where are you**_ , he sent to Draco.

No response.

He sighed, shaking his head and tapping Fleur's name.

 _ **hey**_ _,_ he wrote, unsure what else to say. When nothing better came to mind, he pressed send, determined not to think about it. He looked around the room, trying not to let his mind wander back to his father lying upstairs in a hospital bed, and contemplated leaving before he looked down to realize he had gotten a response.

 _ **nott it's like 4 am is this a sext**_

He couldn't help himself. He laughed.

 _ **no,**_ he replied, cocking his head. _**but it could be**_

 _ **what's in it for me**_

He paused, thinking.

 _ **whatever you want**_

 _ **huh**_ , she replied. _**okay, then take off your pants**_

 _ **i can't take off my pants**_

 _ **well i'm not doing this unless i can imagine you with your pants off so indulge me**_

 _ **fine. they're off. i'm in public but my pants are off**_

 _ **even better. is your dick out**_

 _ **sure**_

 _ **good. do you want a blow job or a hand job**_

 _ **imaginary though, right?**_

 _ **ya**_

 _ **uh. blow job**_

 _ **alright good there's nothing sexy about a hand job**_

 _ **it is when it's your hand**_

 _ **ooooooooh who's sexting now**_

 _ **i feel like nobody is tbh**_

 _ **fuck you're right. hold on**_

He waited, and within moments he received a picture of Fleur's dark green La Perla bra and the magnificently full curves of her breasts that swelled underneath, her thin white blouse pulled temptingly aside for his viewing pleasure. He groaned quietly - half wishing he really _had_ pulled his dick out when he'd been instructed - when he suddenly recognized the background of the picture.

 _ **wait**_ , he typed. _**are you at work right now**_

 _ **lol ya. griphook wanted me to take care of some shit late last night**_

 _ **top secret?**_

 _ **i'd 100% have to kill you. which could be fun and sexy maybe? but idk messy i guess**_

 _ **but you're saying you're not at home with your cunting roommate**_

 _ **nope**_

 _ **and you're saying you're alone?**_

 _ **huh, what do you know. i am**_

Theo grinned.

 _ **if i bring you more sparkling wine will you let me fuck you on your desk**_

 _ **bring me champagne and i'll let you do it twice**_

 _ **It's 4 am how am i going to get champagne**_

 _ **fine. don't bring anything and i'll settle for once**_

 _ **well don't settle on my behalf**_

 _ **that's exactly what i'm doing**_

 _ **fuck, ouch**_

He waited, feeling a tingle of shame for the unlikely smile that had stretched across his face.

 _ **theo if you don't get here in fifteen minutes i'm doing it myself**_

He shook his head, rising instantly to his feet.

 _ **give me five**_

* * *

Draco reached over her to his pants, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. There were two missed texts from Theo; first an innocuous "where are you" and then a "leaving to fuck fleur brb" that made Draco roll his eyes, tightening his other arm around Hermione.

"I should probably let you go," he murmured to her, kissing the side of her neck. "Your shift has to be over by now, Doc."

She nodded sleepily. "Yeah, I really should get up," she agreed, stirring, "especially considering the next one is starting any minute." She sat up, letting him trace the bones of her spine and glancing over her shoulder at him. "Should we talk about this?"

Draco grimaced. "It would be an unfulfilling conversation."

She nodded, reaching for her clothes. "Fine, no talking then," she sighed, slipping the legs of her scrubs over her feet and pausing as he curled himself around her, pulling himself up to kiss the back of her neck. "Don't," she warned, elbowing him.

"Sorry," he said, releasing her and putting his hands up. "Can't help it."

She shook her head, pausing.

"How are we supposed to leave this?" she asked, pulling on the rest of her clothes and then turning to stare at him, her eyes traveling across his chest. "Shake hands and say thanks for the memories?"

He flinched a little at that, but hoped she couldn't see how much it stung. "What if I kiss you goodbye," he offered, "and promise that I would give you all the things you deserved if my life were even a little bit different?"

Her expression tightened indecipherably. "What if I walk out the door," she countered, "because it's not?"

He shook his head, feeling monstrously shitty. "Your choice," he told her, shrugging. "I certainly deserve worse."

She glared at him for a moment, her brown eyes searching his expression.

"You don't," she said stiffly, and then her hands were on either side of his face and she kissed him with a quiet intensity, a stifled desperation, and was out of his arms before he could even return the gesture, leaning helplessly towards her as she walked away.

She opened her mouth to say something before she left, reaching out for the door handle; then she closed it, shaking her head. She glanced at him briefly, touching her fingers to her lips, and then pulled the door open, disappearing with a brisk, determined stride.

Draco sighed, pulling on the rest of his clothes and following shortly after, though by then she was gone from sight. He walked back to the waiting room, throwing himself down in a chair and waiting for Theo's return or for news of Darian, drifting off slightly, dozing unsteadily - and to constant interruption, jarred slightly by every new appearance of a patient or otherwise disappointingly not-Hermione presence - for what must have been a couple of hours before he was finally startled into consciousness by a text.

 _ **Need to talk**_ , it said, from Potter. _**Leaky Cauldron in an hour?**_

 _ **Fine**_ , Draco replied, rubbing his eyes.

He spent the next forty-five minutes sitting in the waiting room with a slowly compounding sense of misery, knowing as he did that Hermione was still in the building but somewhere out of sight, out of reach, and firmly out of the realm of possibility. He sat and fidgeted, gripping the arms of his chair tightly, marinating in a collection of miniature panic attacks whenever anyone with even the vaguest hint of medical garb came his way.

He tried to remember what it had been like with Astoria, back when she'd been any kind of priority in his life. He had thought himself a decently considerate boyfriend for a time but it had never been like _this_ \- like feeling that his world was only remotely sane when she was in it, and yet devolving to an absolute wreckage of indecision when she was not. It was bitingly unfair that he would feel anything whatsoever for a woman he knew perfectly well that he was unsuited for; that he _knew_ he couldn't have, not only because of what he did, but because of who he was.

Perhaps that was the appeal, he thought. That he wanted her for the same reason she wanted him; for the forbiddenness of it, the intrigue. He toyed with the thought, curling it around in his thoughts, but was fairly sure it was a lie - one of many that he told himself. He wanted her, yes, _and_ he couldn't have her, but he knew with a sinking blow of certainty that the latter was not a prerequisite for the former. Because if he'd done everything right, done everything differently, he would still shiver at her touch, burn for her, long for her; wrong or right, she felt like his.

She felt like _his_ , and fuck -

 _Fuck._ He was entirely hers.

He shoved the concept from his mind the moment it slipped into his train of thought, forcing himself to his feet and reminding himself that whatever he was inconceivably feeling, it remained impossible. The best thing he could do for her was to let her live her life.

 _Without you,_ he told himself sternly, picking up his helmet and throwing one leg over his bike. Let her have the life she was supposed to have, the one with picket fences and babies and private schools, and let him take his bullet wounds and his druglord problems elsewhere. If he suffered for it, so be it. Better him than her.

The sun was winking tauntingly at him through the scattered trees that lined the prominent boulevard and he took the few streets to the Leaky while light crept over the horizon, the streetlamps slowly flickering out as he headed for Diagon's main drag. It was still fundamentally a working-class town, so the Leaky opened early; most people had already headed to work but there were a few stragglers inside, reaching tiredly for their coffees and mumbling their orders as they shifted unsteadily from foot to foot.

"Potter," Draco said, spotting him at the back of the diner and slipping into the seat across from him. "What is it?"

Potter took a sip of his coffee, arching a brow. "Good morning to you too, Malfoy," he commented evenly. "You look well."

"I'm sure I do," Draco said drily, leaning back in the chair. "How can I help you?"

"I actually need a favor from you," Potter replied, drumming his fingers on the table. "I'm wondering if you can help me with something I wouldn't necessarily call" - he paused, considering his word choice - "legal."

Draco paused for a moment, letting the surprise of the statement sink in; he hadn't expected to hear from Potter at all so soon after their tension the night before, and he'd expected even less for the other man to ask a favor.

"Well," Draco pronounced slowly, "I suppose questionable legality is technically my specialty."

Potter glanced up, smirking. "Along with motorcycle repair."

"Right," Draco confirmed stonily, rolling his eyes. "So what is it you need, _Officer?_ " he asked pointedly, leaning towards him to accommodate space for conspiracy. "Is this a private matter?"

"No, actually," Potter said, adjusting his glasses and fidgeting with his mug. "I, um," he paused, glancing around. "I assume you've heard about Judge Amelia Bones?"

"I've heard she was killed," Draco confirmed evasively. "Why," he added, half-laughing. "Did you do it?"

Potter gave him a look of utter loathing. "No," he said. "But I need you to look into it for me. As a personal favor," he added, to which Draco frowned.

"A personal favor?" he asked, confused. "You knew her?"

"No," Potter said. "But Slughorn sent me an email early this morning that I found very interesting." He dug his phone out of his pocket, holding it out for Draco. "Take a look."

Draco looked down, scanning the screen quickly.

 _Harry,_

 _I'd like as much as possible for us to keep Judge Bones' case list out of the investigation. If you have any interest in pursuing it, please see me directly, but I have reason to believe her death was the result of a personal vendetta and would prefer we not waste our time. We can discuss it in the morning if you have any further curiosities._

 _Horace_

"Curiosities," Draco scoffed, handing the phone back to Potter with an undisguised look of annoyance. "A bit patronizing."

"A bit," Potter agreed, making a similar face. "But you see why I find this suspicious, right?"

Draco nodded. "He's blocking Amelia Bones' case list," he murmured, tutting quietly. "That can only mean he already knows who's on it."

"Right," Potter said, nodding. "I have to assume he's protecting someone on it. Which could be Tom," he added pointedly, and Draco shrugged, "or someone else entirely. But if I use Diagon PD resources to look into it, he'll put me on a tighter leash - which I really can't afford right now." Potter shook his head, suddenly looking exhausted. "The whole Astoria situation is upsettingly opaque," he muttered, "and I don't need Slughorn having any reason to watch me any closer than he does."

"Hm," Draco agreed, murmuring in thought. "So you want me to get her case list for you? It should be public," he added, frowning, but Potter shook his head.

"Should be, but isn't," he said. "Sort of a backwards court system. Records aren't great."

"I know, which has always been ideal," Draco remarked, and then caught himself. "For me, I mean," he conceded, smirking.

Potter shrugged. "Sure. But ever since there were some, uh, _issues_ between prosecutors and other interested parties," he commented emphatically, prompting Draco to bristle slightly at the reminder of what had happened between his father and Arthur Weasley, "there's a bit more secrecy about high profile criminal cases."

"Right," Draco said, not wanting to get into it. He nodded, as reassuringly as he could manage. "I'll get the list for you."

"Thanks," Potter said coolly, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'd consider it a favor."

"Well, I do owe you one," Draco admitted somewhat unhappily, rolling a kink out of his neck. "How's Daphne, by the way?" he asked, and then watched with amusement as Potter promptly choked on a swallow of coffee, spilling it and coughing. "That good, huh?"

"She's - she's fine," Potter said, clearing his throat and wiping momentarily at the moisture in his eyes. "Having some trouble - or, I guess, _had_ some trouble - "

"Which is to be expected under the circumstances," Draco said placidly, arching a brow. "And are you … helping her?" he asked, feeling unexpectedly entertained by Potter's obvious discomfort.

"Well, I, um," Potter managed. "I lost my parents, so I have some familiarity with the grief process."

"Right, the grief process," Draco said neutrally. "Of course. It can be such a draining activity, grief."

"Yes," Potter agreed, not meeting Draco's eye.

"No wonder you look so tired," Draco added, fighting a laugh, and Potter glared at him.

"Look, it's not what you think," Potter insisted. "And you don't have to be such a - "

"I know I don't," Draco interrupted, offering him a knowing smirk. "I just _am_ , unfortunately."

"You certainly are," Potter muttered, taking a considerably more careful sip. "As far as I know, Daphne is still going to insist on going back to Knockturn."

"Well, don't let her," Draco replied stiffly. "Employ whatever you have at your disposal to ensure that she does not, Potter - at least until we figure out who's behind this." He paused for a moment, squinting slightly at the other man. "You want me to do this for you because you think Slughorn is hiding something from you," he realized aloud, processing the change in Potter's motivations. "Does that mean you think he might be responsible for anything more nefarious, or do you still believe him above suspicion?"

"I never said he was above suspicion," Potter said, but at Draco's arched brow, he sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "I didn't _want_ to suspect him, but nothing's off the table at this point. It could have been any number of people," he added. "Tom, Greyback, Slughorn, not to mention some other enemy Astoria might have had - or that _you_ have, for that matter - "

"Fuck," Draco said, rubbing his eyes. "This shit is beyond fucked."

Potter nodded, not saying anything. For a moment they sat in silence, not looking at each other, until Potter finally cleared his throat, treading carefully.

"I want to trust you, Malfoy," he said, with a deliberate caution. "And I want you to trust me."

Draco recognized the moment for what it was, and so managed to refrain from making any sort of mockery of it.

"I do trust you," Draco replied easily, realizing as he said it how much he actually meant it. "Nor do I plan to give you any reason not to trust me," he added slowly.

Potter shook his head, grimacing. "Well, that's not quite good enough, is it?"

"Nothing I have to offer ever is," Draco muttered, thinking again of Hermione and forcibly shaking her image from his head. "But if you can trust that my intentions are genuine without me having to explain exactly where I was last Friday, we might be able to work something out."

Potter leaned back, sighing. "I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter," he commented. "But I hope you can tell me that whatever you're up to isn't going to come back to bite me, Malfoy."

"I'm certainly hoping it doesn't," Draco said flatly, and Potter sighed.

"Fine," he conceded. "Questionable legality it is, then."

"Anarchy suits you, you know," Draco offered, grinning at him. "Something to consider."

"What?" Potter scoffed. "Chaos as something to live by?"

"No," Draco said slowly. "But the heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself."

Potter paused, glancing curiously at him. "Who said that?"

"Me," Draco said. "Also, Plato."

Potter opened his mouth to say something but suddenly held up a hand, catching something from the radio at his shoulder. "Hold on," he muttered apologetically, turning it up to listen. "I'm not on duty yet, but - "

"Available officer requested at St Mungo's hospital," the voice said. "10-33, unknown explosion, three injured, one unresponsive, any available officer requested to respond - "

"St Mungo's?" Draco repeated, feeling his heart pound. Time seemed to warp slightly, speeding up and slowing down, becoming foggy the moment he'd once again imagined Hermione's face.

Potter held up a hand for pause, turning to speak rapidly into his transmitter; by the look on his face, it had been something serious, and Draco tried to shake the fearful ringing in his ears - the rush of blood that drowned out everything but a few clips and phrases - to make sense of Potter saying to him "that's Ron responding," and then "there's a body," followed by "have to go - "

Potter stood quickly, downing the rest of his coffee and gesturing for Draco to follow before seeming to remember that Draco was not also a police officer. "Sorry, I'll call you if I - hold on," he said, noticing his phone was ringing and glancing down at it. "I - it's Ron - " his face contorted slightly in panic. "That can't be good."

Potter picked up the phone, barely managing a "hello" before his face went pale.

"Fuck," he said, glancing nervously at Draco after about a minute of rapid speech from the other end. "Shit. Yeah, fine, I'll - I'll get him, I'm with - " he glanced down at Draco and shut his mouth, seeming to think better of it. "I'll be right there. If they let you see her, tell her I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up as Draco's mind wandered blankly to at least a dozen horrific possibilities, snapping his fingers for Draco's attention. "Where's Nott?"

"I, um - " Draco paused, biting his tongue on the word _Gringotts_. "He's at his girlfriend's."

"Well, we need to find him," Potter said, pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Right fucking now."

* * *

Leaving Draco never got any easier; not even when she was the one who did the leaving, which was less common, albeit equally devastating. Hermione managed about another half hour of sleep after showering, eventually pulling on a clean set of scrubs and starting the morning for rounds.

"Well, Mr Nott," Padma said, giving his shoulder an awkward squeeze that both of them seemed to immediately regret as Hermione stifled a yawn, "looks like you can actually go home today. Your vitals have been stable, and I have high hopes that if you continue to _not smoke,_ " she insisted emphatically, "and make literally any sort of effort to take care of yourself, you should be fine."

"I'm going to smoke," Nott informed her gruffly. "If I'm going to die, it's going to be without you people screeching at me like I'm some kind of misbehaving toddler."

Beside Hermione, Dean fought a laugh, hiding the motion with a cough into the crook of his arm.

"Wonderful," Padma declared briskly, looking as though she wished to strangle him. "Well, we can have you discharged in no time, if you'd like us to call your emergency contact - "

"Do not call my son," Nott warned, scowling. " _I'll_ call someone."

"Magnificent," Padma said through clenched teeth. "I'll just have someone take care of the paperwork for you and then you can call whomever you'd like, _which_ ," she added under her breath as she turned, wide-eyed, to Hermione, "may very well be Satan, for all I care."

Hermione stifled her laughter with a barely suppressed yawn.

"God, he's a _menace,_ " Padma growled to her the moment they entered the corridor. "Thank god he's finally leaving."

"Oh, but he seemed so fond of you," Hermione teased, as Dean hustled through the group of interns to catch up with them.

"That was fantastic," he told Padma. "I honestly thought you were going to make him eat his own oxygen tube."

"I wish I'd thought of that," Padma grumbled. "Honestly, one more day with him and I'd have made _myself_ eat his oxygen tube just to rob him of any sort of life source."

"That," Hermione remarked, "is otherwise known as murder."

"Well, if murder is on the table, then I should be clear that it'd be much more satisfying with a knife," Padma muttered. "Or a scalpel."

"You really need a psych eval," Dean commented, shaking his head. "And how are you?" he asked, reaching out to grip Hermione's shoulder. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," Hermione said, fighting the impulse to rub at her eyes. "I'm not supposed to be operating today, so as long as I can handle sorting through a few charts, I might manage to skirt disaster for at least a few hours."

"That's the spirit," Dean agreed, smirking. " _You_ look rested, at least," he remarked to Padma, who let out a somewhat poorly restrained wail.

"I _know_ ," she whined, looking furious. "I missed out on that amazing stab wound yesterday - "

"'Amazing' is definitely one way to put it," Hermione permitted skeptically.

" - all I did was have sex and go to bed at a reasonable hour - "

"Disaster," Dean said, feigning a knife stab into the side of Padma's neck when she wasn't looking, prompting Hermione to laugh.

The next couple of hours went somewhat unremarkably; Gilderoy, who was once again filming his imaginary reality show, was insistent on Hermione not speaking during his diagnostic tests ("we talked about wardrobe," he reminded her sullenly, "it's not my fault if you can't dress yourself properly") and so she passed through the morning in relative silence, finally pausing in the cafeteria to grab a poor excuse for a coffee once she was sure she wouldn't make it another second without one.

"Don't tell me you're still here," she heard behind her, and jumped nearly a foot in the air, upending the styrofoam cup just enough that the liquid sloshed onto her wrist.

"Ouch," she hissed, biting her lip in pain as Tom Riddle handed her a couple of napkins.

"Sorry about that," he said, offering her a genial smile. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," she murmured, dabbing at the spot on her wrist that had already turned red. "I guess my reflexes might currently leave something to be desired."

"I hope you've gotten some rest since last night," Tom commented, raising his own cup of coffee to his lips. "I've heard Darian is stable, which I suppose I owe to you."

Hermione shook her head, practically feeling her eyes roll around in her skull from exhaustion. "I told you," she murmured, raising her coffee to her lips and taking a blessed sip. "I just assisted, that's all."

"Well, _I_ had nothing to do with it, so I'm obligated to give someone the credit," Tom assured her, smiling.

"What are you doing back here?" Hermione asked, glancing warily at him. _You really need to stay the fuck away from Tom,_ Draco's voice said in her head, but she pushed it aside; it wasn't like she could just run away covering her ears, she reminded herself. Talking to him was her _job_.

"Taking Nott home," Tom explained, and Hermione nodded her understanding. "A stable Darian and a mobile Theodore," Tom remarked, somewhat warmly. "A lucky day for the Death Eaters, I'd say."

"Has he been discharged already?" Hermione asked, looking around for Nott.

"He's upstairs," Tom explained. "Just gathering the last of his things with Lucius. Requested some things," Tom added, holding up the bottle of water in his hand, "and then we'll be on our way."

"Okay," Hermione said, turning to head towards the stairs. "Well, best of luck to you - "

"I'll walk with you," Tom said, giving her another unnerving smile. "If you don't mind."

Hermione shrugged. "By all means," she said, aiming herself up the stairs. "I have to get back to work, of course, but - "

"Do you know Draco?" Tom interrupted, and for once, Hermione was grateful her reflexes were so slow; the name slid comfortably into her brain and sent a tingle of warmth down her spine, but little else. "You're about the same age, are you not?"

"I don't know him, no," Hermione said, shaking her head and hoping her exhaustion was enough to cover the lie. "I met him yesterday when he came in for Mr Mulciber. As for his age," she shrugged, "I suppose it's possible."

"Ah, I see," Tom remarked carefully, and then eyed her for a moment. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Hermione confirmed, as they reached the top of the stairs. She caught sight of Draco's father and the elder Nott as both turned around, catching the sound of Tom's voice; she took a moment to acknowledge both with a nod before turning to say goodbye to Tom. "Anyway, I'm sure you're all in a hurry to leave - "

"Fucking right I am," Nott muttered. He jerked his head outside. "Got my bike?"

"No," Tom said, laughing. "Lucius will drive you," he explained, nodding at Draco's father.

"Fuck that," Nott said. "The phrase is ride or _die,_ Tom," he added, scoffing. "Not 'ride when convenient,' or 'ride or wait six months.'" He jutted his chin out pointedly at Tom. "You rode?" he asked, and Tom nodded. "Lend me yours, then."

Tom's face immediately contorted in a grimace, an expression that was mirrored by Lucius. "Theodore," he warned slowly, "surely you can wait."

"This is my first time outside in months, Thomas," Nott said flatly, glancing between him and Lucius. "I'm fucking getting on a Harley, mates."

Hermione, sensing tension, cleared her throat. "It might be wiser," she began, but Nott cut her off with a shake of his head.

"I'm not going to fuck it up, Tom," Nott muttered, glaring at him. "I've been riding longer than you have, Riddle. Got you your first bike, remember?"

Tom's grimace deepened, though he made the effort to bend it into a smile.

"Fine," he said tightly. "Just back to the shop." He glanced at Hermione. "Dr Granger, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Wouldn't mind what?" she asked blankly, before realizing Tom was staring expectantly at her. "Oh," she said. "Um, you want me to confirm he's okay to ride?"

"I'd appreciate it," Tom said slowly. "A favor to me."

"I'm - " _a fucking surgeon, not a goddamn babysitter,_ Hermione wanted furiously to say, but waved a hand, taking a long gulp of coffee and aiming herself at the exit. "Fine," she sighed, gesturing for them to lead. "I'll send you on your way, then."

Nott was the first to stride forward, a scowling elder Malfoy behind him, followed by a Tom who had both fists clenched.

"A difficult thing, brotherhood," Tom murmured to Hermione, glancing askance. "An improbably precarious balance."

"Can't you just say no?" Hermione asked, shielding her eyes from the sun outside. "Would save us both time, I think."

Tom laughed; she suspected it was genuine. "Unfortunately, no," he said simply, as Nott arrived at the motorcycle she assumed belonged to Tom and settled himself atop it. Tom, she noted with amusement, openly flinched as Nott's fingers hugged the handles.

"Go and get the car," Tom instructed Lucius, who nodded, jogging slightly into the parking lot. "As for you," Tom said, eyeing Nott from what Hermione suspected was a purposefully reasonable distance, "are you sure you're up for it?"

"Hell yes," Nott said, his eyes greedily taking in the chrome. "I've been waiting, Tom." He glanced up, looking oddly pained. "Let me have this."

Tom hesitated, glancing at Hermione. "Doctor?" he asked expectantly, and she sighed.

"It's certainly not ideal," she began to say, but Nott had already started the ignition, and she never finished the sentence.

The first thing she processed was a spark, then an explosion, and then a shrill ringing in her ears; pain first, sharp and stabbing and then seeping to a throb, followed by the sudden realization of what had been the impact of her back against the pavement. She processed screams, shouts, footsteps; _call the police_ , _get everyone evacuated, check for a pulse, she's still breathing, thank Christ she's breathing -_

"Hermione?" she eventually heard from somewhere above her, and then she closed her eyes, wondering, absurdly, if she'd spilled her coffee, and whether it might have made a mess.

 _Get Draco,_ she wanted to say, wanted to beg, wanted to _laugh -_ but she watched the world go dark instead, her cheek falling to rest against the pavement.

* * *

 **a/n:** Draco's Plato quote is from _The Republic_. Also, I added a facecast album to my Pinterest (olivieblake) so everyone who has questions about Lucius' man bun can head there, and let me know if there are any other requests for characters. Dedicated, with huge amounts of affection, to Gaeleria!

 ** _Brief PSA:_** _my original novella for Witch Way Magazine,_ ** _A.U._** _, is now complete and available for purchase. You can find it at [_ ** _bit_** _dot_ ** _ly_** _slash_ ** _AUOlivie_** _] (no spaces, case sensitive), or via my Tumblr. My new story,_ ** _Lovely Tangled Vices_** _, will be released in the April issue. The summary for that story is: The Locke sisters are the last of a dwindling line of witches, grasping at a fortune that's been lost after near centuries of disrepair. There's Isabella, the elder sister who's desperate to rebuild her family's former splendor; Irene, the younger sister who knows how to play her cards; so-called Prospero, the charismatic Duke with a knack for thievery; and Ian, the quiet academic with a hidden, tortured past. When it comes to the Locke sisters, it's a struggle for love and power amidst a tangle of vices, but nothing is more valuable than the secrets they keep close._


	15. Elements of Freedom

**Chapter 15: Elements of Freedom**

Theo walked into the office at Gringotts in time to catch the telling click of the safety from Fleur's pistol. She was casually draped across her desk chair, her chin propped against the narrow angles of her knuckles as she cocked her head to look at him, languidly expectant.

"Oh, hey," Theo offered coolly, putting his hands in the air and rotating slowly, fighting a grin at the sight of the black stilettoed heels peeking out from beneath the wood. "I thought we already agreed killing me would be too messy."

She tossed him a radiant smirk as he turned back to face her, promptly tucking the gun back in her top drawer and pushing her chair out to close the few steps between them. "Never can be too careful," she remarked upon reaching him, gesturing to the door. "No telling who could have been walking in."

"Ah yes," Theo agreed, his hands finding her hips as hers found his chest. "Especially not people you specifically told to meet you here," he drawled, arching a brow. "Right?"

She shrugged, stunningly unapologetic. "Well, you're late," she informed him, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder but allowing him to pull her closer, nipping at his fingers as he drew his thumb across her lip. "Took you seven minutes."

"Well," he said, grinning, "in fairness to me, I try not to come early."

She rolled her eyes. "Smooth."

"I have my moments," he agreed, not bothering to disguise his errant gaze as it drifted down, suddenly recalling with a thrill of anticipation the precise color of the bra she was wearing. "So," he said casually. "Did we agree to do it on the desk?"

"Well, there's always the chair," she offered flippantly, gesturing to it. "Orthopedic," she clarified, shrugging.

"Responsible," Theo acknowledged, looking around the room. "Maybe the wall?"

"Less orthopedic," she said. "But certainly an option."

"The floor, then," he murmured, drawing a hand down her thigh to let his fingertips flirt with the hem of her black pencil skirt.

"Unsanitary," she determined, making a face. "Dirty."

"I was actually aiming for filthy," Theo informed her, abruptly tearing open the slit of her skirt to nudge his hand higher on her leg. She sighed, glancing down at it.

"Are you going to repair that for me?" she demanded, though she didn't argue as he backed her against the edge of her desk. "You're a menace."

"You don't know the half," he agreed, nudging her backwards until she was perched on top of the desk, her fingers digging into his ribs. "Flimsy material, you know," he commented, giving her skirt another sharp tear, ripping it to mid-thigh and then resting his palm against her skin. "Poor choice of fabric."

She hummed her agreement. "Pity I don't have better taste," she said in his ear, drawing her leg up to pull him closer and then yanking him down by his collar, brushing her lips lightly against his. "If only I made better decisions."

He groaned as her fingers found their way to the top of his button-fly jeans, undoing them one by one. "You know," he began, already finding himself short of breath, "we could always go somewhere else. Do it right," he offered, nipping at her lip as she kissed him again. "I could fuck you on some rose petals or something."

"Messy," she whispered, and he drew a hand to her blouse, pulling open the buttons and lowering his head to slide the tip of his tongue over the curve of her bra, rejoicing in the pebbling of her skin beneath his lips. "Besides," she added, leaning back onto her elbow and pushing his head down to her exposed stomach. "I can't leave. Griphook's waiting on a buyer."

"Fuck Griphook," Theo muttered, giving her skirt another rip and then dipping his head beneath it, smirking as she tightened her grip in his hair. "He can wait. Or someone else can handle it, seeing as you're very busy," he added, biting down on her thigh to prove it.

"Unfortunately," Fleur murmured, her nails digging into his neck as he drew the lace of her thong aside, flicking his tongue against her clit, "I'm the only one he trusts to be here. Well," she amended, frowning. "I guess technically he might have also asked - "

"Fleur," a voice interrupted from behind them, the sounds of heavy footsteps suddenly echoing from the direction of the warehouse. "You know, I was thinking, if you would just - "

Theo managed to untangle himself from Fleur's legs - with a muttered string of curses - in time to catch sight of Viktor's abrupt pause in the doorway, an immeasurably sulky look flitting across the other man's darkened expression.

"Oh," Viktor muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see."

"Oh, fuck off, Viktor," Fleur groaned, hopping off her desk and glaring at him before turning to face Theo, surreptitiously cupping his furiously pulsing cock outside his jeans. "Can you wait?" she asked him quietly, giving his tip a stroke through the denim. "At least now we're even, anyway."

"I feel like I'm going to die," he informed her, and she grinned.

"Good," she determined briskly, maneuvering him back to sit at her office chair. "I'll just be five minutes."

"Five?" he asked skeptically, making a face.

"Ten. Fifteen." She shrugged. "A few."

"I'm going to die," he announced flatly, slumping down in the chair. Fleur shook her head with an impatient sigh, hurriedly refastening her blouse and twisting her skirt so that the ruined slit was only partially visible from the side.

"You're not," she promised him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'd never forgive you."

"Fleur," Viktor snapped, his voice sharp with impatience. "Can you put your boy toy down for one minute so that we can conduct _business_ , please?"

"Down, boy," Fleur whispered to Theo with a wink, giving him a kiss and then sauntering over to Viktor. She, Theo noticed with frustration, was cruelly indifferent to the amount of her exposed leg that he could see from his vantage point. "What the fuck is it, Viktor?"

"Have you just been messing around all morning?" Viktor demanded. "I thought you were out with the Death Eater" - he paused, giving Theo a viciously unwelcoming glare that was cheerfully met with a small wave - " _last_ night."

"First of all, it's creepy that you know that," Fleur retorted, brandishing a finger at him, "and secondly, it's extremely irrelevant. I've been here since three, Viktor, and as you can see, there's shit for you to take care of in the warehouse."

"Yeah, I fucking saw," Viktor muttered. "I just figured you were, you know, _doing your job_ instead of messing around - "

"Oh for god's sake," Fleur growled, grabbing his arm and dragging him back to the warehouse, leaving Theo alone in the office. "I'm good enough at fucking _and_ accounting to do both and you know it, you little shit - "

Theo, who was only just beginning to recover from the ache of interruption, slowly tuned out the sound of their fading bickering to glance down at Fleur's desk, casually glancing over her paperwork. She had incredibly neat handwriting; it was linear and minutely slanted, almost remarkably legible. Her signature, on the other hand, was thoroughly unintelligible. An effort at challenging potential forgers, he suspected, eyeing the precise angles of her swooping script with an odd sense of reverence.

He was surprised, at first, to find that she kept any handwritten records, but noticed almost immediately that her organizational system was so arbitrary that she must have been the only one who could decipher any of the markings. She kept a series of charts and diagrams that he assumed must have been transactions, all of them marked entirely with hieroglyphic characters of her own making. He looked up, checking the clock; after noting that twenty minutes had passed, he glanced down again, frowning in impatience.

For a moment, his father's face invaded his mind - which wasn't, by any stretch, unusual. Theo sometimes thought that he could hear his father mocking him in any moment of silence; could call to mind the lines of disappointment in the elder Nott's scowl in any breath of contemplation. Same name, same face, same anger, after all; same propensity for lifelong disappointment. It was easier to see his father in his mind than almost anyone on earth, and infinitely more unpleasant. Theo shook his father from his thoughts - from his regrets, of which the day had been another tick in the neverending ledger - and forced a swallow, eyeing Fleur's foreign markings.

Theo searched for a transaction he recognized, an impulse born equally of boredom and avoidance. When he thought he found it (a series of color-coded symbols that he suspected matched the number and types of weapons from their first botched deal) he set about trying to unscramble Fleur's labyrinthine diagrams, hoping the pathetic echo of _I don't fucking hate you_ that circled the back of his mind could be drowned out by something more relevant. He followed what he guessed was the dollar amount for the payment on the deal and stopped, settling his attention on the number and inhaling sharply, his father abruptly forgotten.

"Told you," Fleur remarked from behind him, prompting him to jump. "An ungodly amount, right? Sorry," she added flippantly, glancing at the clock. "Took longer to get rid of Viktor than I thought, but he'll be busy for the next few hours, at least."

Theo cleared his throat, his ears slightly ringing as he tore his eyes away from the figure she'd written out. "This," he said, turning over his shoulder to glance at her. "This is what Griphook paid Tom for that first deal?"

Fleur nodded. "I thought he was overpaying," she admitted. "But altogether, the pieces sold for more than that, so, you know," she offered ambiguously, shrugging. "Retail, I guess. Seller's market." She glanced curiously at him, frowning. "Something wrong? Besides the fact that you've been rifling through my things," she commented, gracing him with a cautioning smirk. "Which I really might have to kill you for, if I didn't already have the benefit of admiring the dimensions of your dick."

"But this isn't the right number," Theo protested, and at Fleur's carefully arched brow, he hastily backpedaled. "I mean, this isn't the number Tom gave us," he amended. "It was a few thousand less than this," he added, shaking his head. "No possible mistaking it."

"Ah," Fleur remarked, removing the record from his hand and turning the chair so that he faced her. "Well, I warned you about that," she reminded him, leaning forward and letting her hip jut out to the side, the rip in her skirt drawing his attention back to her thigh. "I didn't realize you found bookkeeping so arousing," she added drily, eyeing her fingernails, "but if you'd prefer to have a crisis about your employer, then - "

Theo stood quickly, placing his hands on her waist to turn her around and settle her in the chair. "It can wait a few minutes," he assured her, settling himself in front of her. "Ten," he guessed, brushing his lips against the inside of her knee. "Fifteen." A kiss to the curve of her thigh. "A few."

She leaned back, closing her eyes and drawing the back of his head further between her legs. "As you were," she murmured in agreement, and he grinned, pulling her hips forward to trace his thumb over the thin material of her underwear.

"You probably shouldn't keep paper records, you know," he informed her. "At least on the computer things can be password protected and encrypted."

"You really think these are all my records?" she replied, inhaling sharply as he pushed her thong aside and threaded his tongue through the lips of her cunt, sliding it against her clit. "They're not all paper, they're not all electronic. Some are just smoke signals," she joked, hissing a little as he continued to pulse his tongue against her, transitioning gradually from a careful taste to something more pressing; a burning need to be closer, to feel more, to possess her fully. "Once," she murmured faintly, "when Griphook was being investigated, I tattooed a month's worth of transactions on Viktor's back."

"Mm," Theo murmured, shuddering a little at the taste of her, the feel of her, the way her eyes fluttered and the way he imagined she would look with him inside her, the way the soft moan from her throat would sound if it were buried in the crook of his neck, her teeth sinking into the skin of his shoulder. He pushed her legs apart, licking and sucking her clit until he could see the curves of her breasts rise and fall with an uninhibited longing, and fought a smile; he paused, admiring the way she lost control, watching one of her hands slip under the lace of her bra to toy with her nipple and feeling the other one bury itself in his hair, her fingers wound securely in the dark strands at the back of his head.

"Christ, Theo," she muttered, writhing against him. "I figured you'd be _good_ , but - "

She faltered; he felt the exquisite tightening of her muscles - the telltale tremor of her legs - and reveled in it, careful not to lose his rhythm. He was blissfully intoxicated with her, luxuriating mindlessly in her, all thoughts of his father and Tom shoved brutishly aside in favor of the way her hips rose to meet his mouth, an unrestrained gasp tearing itself from her lips as she came.

" _Fuck_ , Theo," she choked out, grabbing his face and pulling his lips to hers, kissing him with a ferocity that was so heated it was almost anger. "Do me a favor," she whispered, shaking her head. "Never tell me how many girls you had to fuck to get that good."

"None," he told her, pulling her up to switch places and settling her on his lap. "I'm a virgin, Fleur," he told her innocently, biting lightly on her ear.

She gave him a brusque shove, leaning back to undo his buttons for the second time that morning.

"Is this my deflowering?" Theo asked, laughing as she swooped closer for another kiss, biting down hard on his lip. "Or am I technically being flowered, since you're Fleur?"

"Shut up," she growled, and then with a little clever choreography on her part - a shifting upwards of her skirt and a maneuvering of his hand to the bare curve of her ass - and he was so close to _actually fucking her_ that his mind was suddenly blank with consummate stupefaction.

"One more pun," she warned sternly, "and I swear to god - "

"You'll what?" he interrupted, unable to resist taunting her even as he ached - burned - _throbbed_ \- with anticipation. "How many times in one day can you threaten to kill me, woman?"

"I'll let you know if I ever lose the motivation," she said, rutting cruelly against him. "For now," she murmured, "assume there is no ceiling."

"Can't kill me," he forced out, pulling her in to kiss her neck. "You'd miss me."

"I'd recover," she muttered, and he closed his eyes; _so close,_ he thought, and just when he - just when she - _right when they -_

"Stay the fuck _here,_ Potter," Draco's voice snapped from outside the door. Theo immediately froze, his hands dropping to still Fleur's hips. "Unless you can agree to just close your goddamn eyes."

"I thought you said Nott was with his _girlfriend,_ " Potter sniped back. "I'm not just going to sit in the car, Malfoy, I'm not your pet - "

"No, you're not, or I'd tell you to fucking sit," Draco snarled, striding through the doorway and attempting to shut the door behind him as Theo groaned, resting his forehead against Fleur's shoulder.

"Can't you shoot him?" he murmured in her ear. She sighed, gracefully dismounting his lap and adjusting her skirt again as Theo consented to refasten his jeans, wanting furiously to murder both men.

"Draco," she said, nodding unhappily to him. "I grow less and less fond of you each time we meet," she remarked flatly, before catching sight of the man behind jogging in behind him. "Ah, and you brought a cop." She threw her hands up, shaking her head. "Fucking _wonderful_."

"I'm just here for Nott," Potter supplied quickly, striding over to the desk and looking meaningfully at Theo. "I need you to come with me."

"Are you fucking joking, Potter?" Theo retorted, leaning back in the chair and making a face. "No."

"Theo," Draco said in a low voice, and at the rare severity of his tone Theo spared him a searching glance to find that his face was drawn, his expression shouting with a disconcerting clarity that there was more to his and Potter's joint appearance than their uncontainable bickering. "It's bad, Theo," Draco muttered, swallowing. "You need to come with us."

Fleur glanced between Theo and Draco, her eyes narrowed skeptically. "Do you still want me to shoot him?" she offered in his ear, but Theo bit his lip, drawing a hand up to his mouth.

"What is it?" he asked. He saw Potter open his mouth but Theo shook his head, holding a hand up without looking at him. "Draco," Theo said firmly, not shifting his gaze. "What is it?"

For a moment, Draco struggled to meet his eye, but he managed it; it was something they always offered each other, and Theo would accept no less.

"It's your father," Draco said, and Theo felt his chest tighten. "I don't know details, but - " Draco glanced at Potter, who nodded slowly; tacit approval to continue. "There was an explosion at the hospital. A bomb." Draco looked back at Theo, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, as Theo suddenly felt compelled to stand, jerking upright to numbly register Fleur's hand suddenly closing around his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Draco repeated, looking genuinely sorrier, in fact, than Theo had ever seen him. "He's gone."

A moment slid by in silence.

"My father," Theo repeated eventually. "He's dead?" He turned, this time sparing a glance at Potter. "You're sure?"

Potter cleared his throat, grimacing. "Yes."

As always, it took Theo scarcely an instant to call his father's face to mind; _I don't fucking hate you,_ he heard himself say again, and suddenly found the words to be considerably less pathetic.

"He's dead," Theo repeated vacantly, and the pressure of Fleur's fingers tightened on his shoulder. "But I just - " he broke off, looking at Draco. "I _just_ fucking spoke to him, and I - "

He trailed off, and Draco looked pained.

"I'm sorry," Potter said, shaking his head. "And," he added, inhaling sharply, "I'm sorry to do this to you, but I need you to come to the hospital now. I need to get there as soon as possible," he explained, and Theo barely caught the motion of Draco glancing sharply at him, frowning. "A friend of mine was injured by the blast," Potter continued, babbling helplessly. "A doctor who works there, and I'm just a bit worried - "

Theo's head spun, the ongoing conversation becoming foggy in his mind. He barely processed the words from Potter's mouth until he heard something sharp in Draco's voice, something that sliced bitterly through the air between them.

"What?" Draco demanded, and in less than a blink of an eye, he was heading for the door.

* * *

Draco had never been so furious.

"Slow down," Potter called after him, confusion evident in his voice. "I've got to bring Nott in - "

But there was no slowing down - not now. Draco threw a leg over his bike and wrestled with his helmet, barely processing the motions as Theo silently followed him to do the same, Potter climbing into his cruiser and starting the engine as they headed to St. Mungo's.

It had to have been Hermione; Draco kicked himself for not making the connection from Potter's phone call - his assurance to Weasley that he would be there, the words _if they let you see her,_ the way Potter was so uncharacteristically on edge.

It had to have been her.

Draco thought his biggest problem would be the need to see to Theo's grief, to adjust his scope of urgency to balance his best friend's suffering with that of Hermione's. His immediate concern had been the certainty of knowing the depths of Theo's private anguish in comparison to the indeterminable pain she might be feeling; the circumstances that he didn't know, but was certain - with an inexplicable apocalyptic determination in his gut - were horrific.

But upon arrival, that was the least of it.

"Draco," Lucius said, grabbing his arm and pulling him aside as Theo kept walking, his face pale as he sought out news of his father. "Who called you?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked vacantly, his mind buzzing as his gaze frantically darted around the hospital. He caught sight of Dean from afar and considered for a moment whether he might be able to ask him about what was happening without appearing suspicious when his father's grip suddenly tightened, distracting him. "What the fuck?" Draco demanded, glaring at him. "Is this about Nott?"

"Tom's been hit," Lucius supplied through gritted teeth. "Had to've been Greyback," he muttered under his breath, glancing around. Draco followed his gaze, catching sight of where Slughorn was standing with the other officers, white-faced and sweating.

"What?" Draco said vacantly, stunned. "Tom?"

"There was an ignition bomb planted on Tom's bike," Lucius explained, still staring after Slughorn. "Killed Nott instantly. Tom's getting stitched up," Lucius added with a growl, sparing a moment to give Draco an impatient glance. "A piece of his Harley cut into his leg."

"Was there anyone else?" Draco asked, suddenly dizzied. For some reason, the concept of Tom Riddle bleeding had always seemed well outside the realm of possibility.

"Some small injuries," Lucius said, frowning. "A doctor got hit. The one from last night," he clarified, as though he'd just remembered. "Darian's surgeon."

Draco fought to contain the immediate blow to his chest. "Dr Granger," he said, half a whisper, and Lucius nodded distractedly.

"Sure," he confirmed, shrugging. "She's fine too, I guess. Passed out for a bit," he added, somewhat distastefully, as though he disapproved of her apparent dramatics. "Got everyone all worked up, but - "

"I have to go, Dad," Draco interrupted briskly, unable to stomach his father's impossible nonchalance. "I have to find Theo."

"They'll have him doing paperwork," Lucius muttered, with a careless sniff of agitation. "It's worth remembering, Draco, that to the living, death is absolute fucking bullshit." He glanced around, making a face at his surroundings and scowling. "Nothing but logistics and paperwork left behind the moment your soul is gone."

"Poetic," Draco commented with a grimace, and moved to step away; to his uninhibited displeasure, however, his escape was cut off by the arrival of Slughorn at his side.

"Lucius, I've got nothing to explain this," the portly police chief hissed quietly, attempting what Draco considered to be a markedly weak effort at subtlety. "People are going to talk - "

"That's not my fucking concern," Lucius snarled back, substantially less careful to conceal his irritation. "Keep up appearances however you like, Slughorn," he added irreverently, lifting his chin. "We'll take care of our end."

"I can't keep hiding your activities if this keeps happening," Slughorn insisted, and Draco got the impression this was a conversation they had had before. "People are going to think crime's gotten into Diagon from Knockturn, and they're going to _blame me -_ "

Lucius pivoted angrily to deliver a retort and Draco promptly embraced the opportunity to take a step back, carefully disappearing and then weaving through the lobby to find Hermione, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure his father's attention had not followed before slipping into the corridor.

"I can't believe this happened to her," he heard a female doctor say, catching sight of her from down the hall and squinting, faintly recognizing her as she spoke to someone out of sight. "What was she even doing outside? And what was she doing _with them_?"

Draco paused, frowning. He hadn't yet considered what Hermione might have been doing with Tom.

"No idea," came the reply, a voice Draco identified as belonging to Weasley. "She's awake now, though, I think. Harry's upstairs talking to her."

"God, I feel sick," the doctor said, her hand at her chest. "I always joke about murdering her just to do her surgeries, but _fuck -_ "

Draco shuddered, turning to head for the hospital rooms upstairs. He glanced around for Theo but saw no evidence of him; he felt a brief pang of guilt for his absence, but temporarily shook himself of the feeling.

 _Five minutes_ , he told himself. He could spare five minutes to check on Hermione, and then he would find Theo.

He raced up the stairs, pausing as he heard Potter's voice and footsteps; he waited, listening to clips of "I'll be back" and "glad you're okay" and then, mercifully, Potter's departure in the opposite direction. Draco slipped into the corridor, glancing through the small glass panes on the doors before finding her room.

He watched her for a moment before opening the door, discovering with an unpleasant sharpness that it was difficult to breathe. She looked especially tiny in the hospital bed, her hair an unruly spill of chaos around her face and her perfect cheek sporting a gash across it that he could see with an alarming clarity, even from a distance. He let his gaze travel the cuts and bruises on her arms and face and he imagined that he could suffer each blow himself; he _wished_ , more accurately, that he had felt them.

He wished they'd been inflicted on him instead.

"Hey, Doc," he murmured, trying to force a smile for her benefit as he opened the door but instead feeling his heart sink to his stomach, physically sickened by the thought of her in the hospital room. "Did you forget what you promised me?"

She turned to look at him, flashing him a dazzling smile that was part exhaustion, part unplaceable delirium. "Draco," she whispered, lifting a hand to reach for him.

"You promised," he reminded her, settling himself gently at her side. He took in the marks on her face and stifled a brief moment of rage at the unknown source, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "You told me you'd be safe."

Her smile didn't falter. "I'm safe," she told him. "Just some scratches."

"Some scratches and some brief unconsciousness, huh?" he murmured, letting her take his hand to toy with his fingers. "That's not exactly what I meant by safe, Doc."

She laughed, somewhat vacantly.

"I miss you," she remarked offhandedly, tilting her head to look at him. "I miss … "

She trailed off; he pressed his lips to her fingers, waiting. "Yes?"

She pulled him closer, turning her head to whisper in his ear. "I miss the way your dick tastes," she said, and then giggled, biting her lip.

Draco sat back, fighting a grin. "A dick speech?" he asked wryly, and she laughed again; it was a girlish, unburdened show of amusement, and he shook his head, unable to prevent a small chuckle. "Did they give you some drugs, Doc?"

"Just some casual opioids," Hermione replied, smiling beatifically. "You know," she added, shrugging. "Because I got myself blown up."

"Yes, you did," Draco agreed, sighing. "I'm not thrilled about it."

She squinted at him, pursing her lips slightly, as though she wished to comment.

He arched a brow. "Yes?" he prompted.

"Did you rob a bank?" she asked flatly.

He laughed again, finding the concept absurd. "No, I didn't."

"Hm," she murmured, closing one eye to regard him more closely through the other. "Did you sell drugs?"

"No," he said, feeling his brow furrow. "Do you think I did?"

She shook her head. "No," she admitted, and then paused. "Did you murder someone?"

He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, unable to look away from the marks on her face, the cut on her lip; the evidence of injury that someone, _somewhere,_ had made the unforgivable error of causing. "Not yet," he said quietly, and she, catching what must have been a murderous look of fury in his eye, smiled. "Why?" he asked her, brushing his thumb across her jaw. "Are you wanting an itemized list of my misdeeds?"

"I'm just wondering," she sighed, "what terrible things you've done." She held onto his hand, tucking her cheek against it. "What did you do, Draco Malfoy?" she whispered. "What's so bad that you can't just be with me?"

He watched her close her eyes and lean into his touch; he felt his heart plummet and shatter, knowing he couldn't give her an answer.

"This is my fault," he told her instead, forcing a ragged breath. "In some way or another, this was my fault."

She shook her head, cracking one eye to look at him. "No," she said. "You can't take credit for everything," she added, pulling his hand in front of her face to trace the letters on his knuckles. "Hey," she announced suddenly, the change in tone so abruptly startling that he nearly jumped. "What's the whole 'ride or die' thing about?"

Draco bit back the things he wanted urgently to say - _I'm sorry, I should never have dragged you into this, you should never have been involved -_ to spare her a sighing chuckle, shaking his head. "Just an old biker phrase," he told her. "If you couldn't ride, you'd rather die. That sort of thing. Though it means something a little different now," he conceded, fighting a shiver as her breath skated across his fingers. "Ride together, or die trying."

At the unintentional weight of the moment, he cleared his throat, conjuring a smile. "Some Bonnie and Clyde shit."

"Seems a bit dramatic," she replied, unfazed. "Ride or _die,_ " she said hazily, making a face.

He laughed in spite of himself. "There's an element of freedom to what we do," he told her, shrugging. "We love the ride for what it stands for. It's not just a bike. It's a life with our own code - with no rules, no barriers," he explained. "Or at least that's how it's supposed to be," he muttered under his breath, thinking about how spectacularly untrue that had become.

"No rules," she agreed, her eyes catching on the word _city_ as they traveled over his knuckles. "The City is what it is because our citizens are what they are," she recalled, passing him a brief smile. "Is that one of the elements of freedom? Being what you are?"

He wanted desperately to hold her.

"I think so," he said.

She tilted her head, thinking. "Nothing beautiful without struggle," she murmured to him, and he felt his heart stop, felt time crash around him, felt the earth cave beneath his feet, felt himself dissolve completely until nothing remained but the impossible sweetness of her fingers laced with his.

"Plato," he remarked, and she smiled.

"Your philosophy bro," she told him, and then, in the oddness of the moment, he laughed, a full belly laugh that was met with an incongruous suffering; a sudden inconsolable pang of knowing it still came so easily. Even with her in a hospital bed, it was still in reach -

 _Happiness._

God, it was all so incontrovertibly fucked.

"Maybe I should let you rest," he said, already aching at the thought of being away from her. "Is there anything you need?"

"I need you to stop leaving me," she replied, as though she could read his mind. She set his hand down to let it rest against her chest, her pulse beating steadily against it. "It's growing very tiresome to keep saying goodbye to you, Draco Malfoy."

The statement was met with unfathomable pain.

"It really is," he agreed, barely finding his voice. "But maybe when you're not on drugs you'll understand why I have to."

"Doubtful," she scoffed. "I'm a genius, you know," she added, reaching up to rub her eyes with a somewhat graceless motion. "And it still doesn't make sense to me."

 _Fair,_ he thought, and grimaced. "That's because," he sighed, "among other things, I'm a liar."

"Well, you can't have a perfect penis _and_ morals," she informed him very seriously. "That would just be deeply unfair."

"I technically have morals," he assured her. "I just rarely employ them."

"Why start now?" she said. "I'm in bed," she added, gesturing grandly to herself. "You could fuck me here." She paused, considering it. "And then," she suggested brightly, "we could split a pudding cup."

"That's very generous, Doc," he said. "Extremely tempting."

She grinned.

"Kiss me," she suggested, tilting her head at him. "Please?"

He glanced over his shoulder, checking the small pane of glass at the door; nothing, he noted, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. "I shouldn't," he muttered, more to himself than her, and she gave him a gloriously juvenile pout.

"I'm hurt," she reminded him. "A kiss would make it better."

"Is that a medical diagnosis?" Draco asked, and she nodded.

"Yes," she declared firmly. "I'm a doctor," she reminded him. "I'm a fucking _magnificent_ doctor," she added, tapping his nose with her finger, "and I know my shit."

"I know you do," he said, sighing. "You probably saved my life, remember?"

"Well, I think you should probably kiss me then, Draco Malfoy," she informed him. "Otherwise you'll be swimming in debt to me."

"I already am," he assured her. "Drowning in it."

She paused for a moment, eyeing his mouth with an undisguised longing. "If you don't want to," she began softly, the smile falling from her lips.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought, shaking his head; there was no way he was going to let her think that was true. He leaned forward, drawing her chin up slowly, and brushed his lips against hers as gently as he could; trying, impossibly, to assure her that hell would freeze over before he'd ever not want her, but to do it without causing her any pain.

Any _more_ pain.

She pulled him closer, her fingers coiling in the back of his shirt and drawing him against her. He shifted on the bed, his hands dropping to her waist and holding on, a sudden fear coursing through him as he considered that he'd come wretchedly close to never having done this again, to never having touched her, to never having felt her snatch the breath from his lungs again, over and over and _over_ -

The kiss deepened, cascaded, escalated, and for a wild moment he thought to snatch her up and fucking _run,_ to disappear entirely, consequences be damned. Fuck his enemies, fuck his brotherhood, fuck his _life_ and whatever remained of it without her; he thought he tasted blood from her lips and whether real or imagined he couldn't stand the thought of it, the unstomachable possibility that she might bleed for him - that she might bleed _because of him._

It was sobering, catastrophic; bleak and entirely cruel.

He slowly broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to notice he had been tangled with her, drawn in to her side like he'd been made that way. It was still uncanny how easily they fit.

"I'm sorry," he offered helplessly, his lips still against hers.

She bent her head to his, her fingers light against his jaw. "I could love you if you let me," she whispered, and he felt a tremor of something manic sprint down the notches of his spine just as the sound of the door opening behind them provided a jarring interruption, the moment dissipating to an instant blow of panic.

"What the fuck is this?"

Draco took a sharp breath, turning to find Potter staring at him.

"Harry," Hermione called gleefully, waving at him.

Draco said nothing. Potter's eyes narrowed.

"Get in the hall, Malfoy," Potter spat furiously. "I want a fucking explanation."

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to Madval29! Hermione's Plato quote is also from _The Republic._


	16. The Devil That You Know

**Chapter 16: The Devil That You Know**

It took everything Harry possessed not to punch Malfoy directly in the mouth. The other man's eyes were guiltily downcast as they stepped into the hall, his shoulders appropriately tense; if Harry hadn't been in uniform, he might have just done it, considering he was finding himself too jittery to formulate any appropriately cutting words to express his displeasure.

To express the _betrayal_ of it, somehow, though he wasn't sure quite how to explain the compulsion.

"How long," Harry began, letting the first - and also perhaps the least satisfying - question that came to mind exit his lips in a furtive growl. "How long has this been going on?"

For a moment, Malfoy said nothing, setting his jaw.

"A while," he confessed eventually, not meeting Harry's eye. "But it's over now."

"It didn't fucking _look_ over," Harry hissed, jabbing a finger in the direction of Hermione's room. "Malfoy, anyone could have seen that," he added furiously. "Have you managed to fucking _forget_ what happened to Astoria?"

"I know," Malfoy said dully, blinking once. "I wasn't thinking."

"No, you fucking _weren't,_ " Harry agreed, aware that he was losing his temper but giving in to an irrepressible need to rant regardless, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You know better than anyone just how dangerous you are, Malfoy!"

"I know," Malfoy said again, and it somehow made Harry even angrier to hear it twice. "I already told you, _it's over_ \- "

"How fucking stupid do you think I am?" Harry demanded nonsensically, throwing his hands in the air and gesturing again behind him. "You're going to tell me that _that,_ " he snapped, flailing in indeterminable frustration, "the two of you making out in her hospital bed - _that_ was supposed to be evidence of things being _over_?"

"What do you want me to tell you, Potter?" Malfoy countered, looking so resignedly miserable that Harry nearly took a step back, momentarily winded. He'd expected a fight, he realized, and half wished he had gotten one instead. "I know exactly how dangerous I am," Malfoy continued, wincing, "I know that - and I _know_ I put her in danger just by being here - I _know_ I fucked up - "

"I just - " Harry paused to accommodate a grimace, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand how much she means to me," he admitted, letting his voice drop. "She's my best friend," he muttered, "and I will fucking rip you to shreds if anything happens to her, _ever -_ "

"I won't let that happen," Malfoy growled in return, his expression tensing as he glanced up to meet Harry's eye. "Believe me, I want her safe as much as you do." His mouth twitched once, his grey eyes blazed, and then he grimaced. "More, probably," he added under his breath, flashing Harry a stubborn look of certainty.

Harry sighed, leaning back against the door. "I believe you," he said wearily, pausing to glare at the other man, "and it's fucking pissing me off, because I want to _kill_ you." He glanced through the window at Hermione, who had drifted peacefully to sleep in their absence. "She's too fucking good for you."

"Again, Potter, you insist on telling me things I already know," Malfoy said gruffly. "Look, I promise to keep my distance, okay?" he said, raising his hands in the air; an unequivocal surrender. "I'll stay away, I swear. Just - keep an eye on her," he sighed, and Harry, who still felt he could find motivation to punch him, managed to nod stiffly in return. "If you let anything happen to her," Malfoy warned fiercely, "I'll fucking _eviscerate_ you, Potter."

"Noted," Harry muttered. "And consider the sentiment mutual."

"Whatever," Malfoy replied, rubbing the back of his neck and looking exhausted before he glanced askance at Harry, shaking his head. "I wouldn't put her in harm's way, Potter," he said, swallowing. "Whatever you think of me."

Harry rubbed his eyes, nodding unwillingly. "Who else knows?" he asked, frowning. "Nott?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Nobody," he said tightly. "Just you. And it'll stay that way," he warned, brandishing a finger. " _Or else_ , because if not - "

"You'll string me up by my thumbs, I get it," Harry sighed. "Bury me alive. Sell my organs."

" _Eviscerate_ you," Malfoy corrected, smug as ever as he crossed his tattooed arms over his chest.

"Fine." Harry glared at him. "You'll eviscerate me, then."

"Glad we understand each other," Malfoy said coolly, as his glance slid to the window of Hermione's hospital room; there was a twitch, a reflex towards her, but he shook himself of it, giving Harry a brisk nod. "Where's Theo?"

Harry shrugged. "I saw him leave."

"Leave?" Malfoy echoed, frowning. "But - " He cut himself off, heading for the stairs. He stopped after a stride, tensing, as though he wanted to look behind him; but after half a moment's pause he squared his shoulders, sauntering down the hall without looking back.

Harry opened the door to Hermione's room, peeking in to check on her, but she didn't stir; deciding to let her rest, Harry dragged himself back downstairs, returning to the madness.

He spent the rest of the day sorting through a series of flashbacks, things piecing together in his mind after the revelation of what had been her and Malfoy; the taste of Hermione's kiss and the constant interruptions that first night, the questions about the Death Eaters that had seemed to roll helplessly off her tongue. Her disappearance once they'd arrived at Rosmerta's, and the way she'd drifted from him every time he'd gotten close. _A while,_ Malfoy had offered ambiguously, but it had obviously been more than that; it had been the entirety of Harry's relationship with her.

For most of the day, he couldn't decide what he felt about it.

Until he came home to a suitcase by the door.

"Daphne," Harry called, trying to shove aside a moment of panic as he let the door shut behind him, the wind suddenly knocked from his lungs. "Daphne," he said again, his keys dropping from his hand. "Are you here?"

He fell back against the sofa, not taking his eyes from the suitcase.

A packed bag meant goodbye. He'd certainly seen it enough to know. Harry had been born in Diagon once upon a time and a single packed bag had accompanied him away, out of the grip of trauma from his parents' murders, and then it had never changed. From the time he was young it had been the only thing he'd ever kept: the promise of a single packed bag, and the reward of inevitable escape. Harry recalled, then, Hermione's comment about the vacantness of his apartment, the lack of roots - _like you could breeze out of here any moment and not have left anything behind,_ she'd said, and it had been something they'd bonded over at the time; a pair of anchorless wanderers.

The apartment didn't look much different now, but Harry knew that it was. Inside the fridge was a drawer of fresh produce, a planned meal, a future packaged neatly within a crisp head of lettuce. In the bathroom was a terrible sketch Daphne had done of him while he'd been shaving, a stick figure with an oversized badge and gun and the words 'Officer Crimefighter' underlined in lipstick. Under the couch were two elastic hair ties, which she'd be looking for eventually. She was always misplacing them, and he knew she would ask and then he would fetch them for her, pretending to find them somewhere normal.

He stared at the packed bag, realizing that for the first time his house was full of things he couldn't leave behind and determining with certainty that whatever he'd felt about finding Hermione with Malfoy wasn't nearly as painful as this.

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said, suddenly breezing in through the front door. "I was wondering when you'd be back. I was just - "

She stopped, frowning, as he lifted his chin to eye her from the couch, forcing his gaze away from the luggage by the door.

"Please don't go," he said hoarsely, and then he instantly wanted to hide, to disappear entirely and blend into the upholstery for being the fool who'd made more of the two of them than it apparently was. "I - sorry, that's crazy," he said, shaking his head and backtracking. "No, never mind, I just - "

Daphne crossed from the threshold to the couch, giving him a little shove and then climbing onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I went to my apartment in Knockturn today," she explained in his ear. "I heard about the explosion at the hospital and I - " she stopped, swallowing, and forced a smile. "Anyway, I got some of my things and brought them here. I moved all my appointments to Mondays and Wednesdays, and it's really not too terrible a drive, so - "

She hesitated. "I mean, it's probably not safe around here, so maybe neither of us should be alone." She gave him a weak smile. "I thought I should stay a little bit longer," she explained. "Sort of as a precautionary life-saving technique, I guess."

Harry pressed his forehead to hers, suddenly understanding Malfoy's mettle behind the words _if you let anything happen to her, I will eviscerate you._

"Yeah," he agreed. _Life-saving._ "Something like that," he murmured, brushing his lips gratefully against her cheek.

* * *

Theo had walked out in the middle of an explanation from the hospital administrator.

It had been the easy things first; he could tell they were trying to be gentle. It was something about _nothing we could do_ and _horrible loss_ and _how can we help,_ and then it spilled into _next of kin_ and _medical certificate_ and _arrangements_ and paperwork and signatures and then it had all faded to a slight ringing in his ears and Theo had turned, shoving open the doors and climbing onto his bike until the clamoring voices of death were swallowed by the sound of his ignition.

He didn't know where he was going until he got there, but once he arrived he wasn't surprised. He strode furiously into Fleur's office at Gringotts and did not stop walking until he had turned her chair to face him, ignoring her incoherent sounds of protest to take her hand and pull her up, drawing her into his chest. He bent his head to kiss her, slowly at first, and then harder, ruthless, _more_ as she deepened the kiss, a mounting urgency that stuttered between them until they had stumbled aside, her legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed her back against a file cabinet.

"Well," Fleur said, managing to take a breath, "hello to you, too."

"Hi," he rasped in reply, biting lightly at her lip and then nudging her chin up to kiss her neck. "How are you?"

"Me? I'm fine," she replied, scraping her nails along his spine. "But then again," she murmured, " _my_ parents have been dead for quite some time, so - "

He bristled. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, pulling the collar of her blouse aside to slice his teeth against her throat, rutting his hips against her.

"Well, if you insist," she murmured, and he stole a kiss from her again, reaching up to tug on her long blonde hair as he lifted her arms over her head, pinning them back against the wall. "But," she attempted, forcing the words out in the spare breaths he permitted, "if you - want to tal- "

"Fleur," Viktor shouted, wandering in from the warehouse. "For fuck's sake, if you're going to - _oh_ ," he said coldly, his tone adopting something irritatingly displeased as he came to a stop in the doorframe.

Theo groaned aloud, clenching a fist.

"Didn't your dad die?" Viktor asked impatiently, and for a moment Theo's entire body went rigid, the sea of voices flooding his ears and wafting feverishly through his brain -

And then, desperate, Theo gave in to a wildly inadvisable reflex and reached behind him to pull the Glock from his waistband, not pausing to think. He aimed it without hesitation at Viktor's head from across the room and Fleur inhaled sharply in surprise, her dark blue eyes wide as they darted between Theo's bitter grimace and the gun in his hand, pointed steadily at the man in the doorway.

"Get out," Theo said shortly, and Viktor frowned at him for a moment, startled, before his expression hardened to a scowl.

"Hey, listen up, asshole," Viktor retorted. "You can't just come into my place of work and point that thing at me - "

"Get - the _fuck_ \- out," Theo enunciated slowly, "because I promise you, you do not want to be the thing that pisses me off right now."

"Viktor," Fleur interrupted, gesturing to him as she gripped the back of Theo's head. "We're fine," she called sweetly, not letting go of Theo. "He's grieving, you know," she added, waving a hand. "But it's fine. It's a whole thing." She rubbed her thumb at the back of Theo's neck, shaking her head at him. "We're working through it, aren't we?" she added quietly, and he made a face of unwilling agreement.

Viktor's eyes narrowed. "This is still bullshit," he growled, and at the aggression in his tone Theo wordlessly disengaged the safety on his pistol, cocking his head in warning.

"Viktor," Fleur said firmly, a warning of her own, and the other man sighed, shaking his head and backing out of the room until he'd disappeared from sight. Fleur waited a moment, watching Theo's face, before gently detaching the gun from his shaking fingers, sliding gracefully to her feet and shifting to set it in the top drawer of her desk, clicking the safety on.

"Well," she said, drumming her fingers against her arms and turning to look at him. " _You_ are clearly not alright."

He swallowed, raking his fingers through his hair. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head and then staggering backwards, leaning against the wall. "I'm so sorry," he said again, not looking at her and feeling disgusted with himself. "That was stupid," he realized aloud, "and I swear, I don't know what I was - "

He stopped speaking as he heard the sound of her heels clicking across the floor, felt his pulse quicken at the creak of the hinges as she closed the door to her office, latching it shut. He glanced up, holding his breath, to find that she was removing her blouse, letting it slip over her shoulders before stepping out of her skirt, divesting herself layer by layer until only the dark green underthings remained.

"This might be the most fucked up behavior I've ever found myself encouraging," she told him seriously, "but I think you already know that if you pull that shit again, it won't end well for you a second time." She took a few steps to resume her position at her desk, leaning back against it. "But," she conceded slowly, her gaze softening. "I want you to feel better. _And_ ," she added, taking a breath as she looked at him, "I want you."

It was the only thing he wanted to hear.

Theo took a step forward, the breath he'd been holding slipping out in a sigh as he settled his hands on her bare hips. Fleur shivered a little, her fingers floating around his wrist, and then looked up to meet his eye; it was a blessed glimpse of sympathy that shone against her tough exterior. A glimmer of caring - and for once, Theo didn't feel alone.

"Thank you," he whispered, and then he kissed her again - collided with her - and lay her back against her desk, his lips traveling hungrily over her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and then resting above the pulse of her heart, capturing it like he could breathe her in.

Fucking Fleur, Theo imagined, was something like finding God. Like the inconsistency of knowing an entirely different world had existed and yet he might never have known, might never have seen, had he not witnessed her. Had he not buried himself inside her, perhaps he would never have understood what it was to want eternity, and to trade everything he had to possess it again.

She was loud; so was he, and he was grateful. It drowned out the chaos he'd left behind him, and then he spent another hour tangled in her arms, rejoicing in the blissful silence.

* * *

Draco had the best of intentions.

With Hermione, firstly, whom he'd promised he would stay away from, and thus found himself avoiding even in the most innocuous of circumstances, including the simple typography of her name in his phone. He tapped on her contact at least three times a day, half-constructing a message before deleting it and stowing his phone back in his pocket, his fingers twitching in her absence. He avoided the hospital; he got news of Mulciber from Avery, instead, and spent his time with Theo.

Theo. The second use of best intentions.

He hadn't taken particularly well to the death of his father - though, in fairness, Draco hadn't expected much. He'd gotten a call from Theo a few hours after they'd been at the hospital - "fucked Fleur, enjoyed it immensely, will need to be less of a shit before next time" - that had turned into a nearly two-day bender, a graceless avoidance of their problems that had meant a fair amount of intoxication and some scattered property damage; a dent in the drywall, some bruised knuckles.

There were the few other things nudging annoyingly at Draco's mind, like Potter's request for Amelia Bones' case list, or Theo's offhanded comment that _what if Tom didn't pay us - what then?_ that had sounded so close to a threat Draco did not wish to indulge it, knowing that stoking the fire with Jack Daniels would do no one any good. There was the continued mystery of Astoria's death, the ongoing threat of Greyback, the burdensome distraction of both - and then there was Tom, and Tom's fury.

And that, out of everything, was severely inescapable.

"He tried to kill me," Tom seethed, calling them in for a meeting. "We lost a brother, and that bomb was meant for me - "

Beside Draco, Theo stiffened.

" - there's no avoiding it now," Tom snarled. "This is _war,_ and it requires retribution _._ "

"Are you certain?" Slughorn said nervously. "A turf war between Diagon and Knockturn won't do anyone any good, Tom, and I won't be able to - "

"Would you fucking shut up about your image?" Lucius demanded, glaring at him as he slammed a fist into the table. "It's _your_ job to take care of that. _Our_ job - "

"The Death Eaters have always been caretakers of Diagon's best interest," Slughorn reminded Lucius sharply, his beady eyes abruptly blown as wide as they would go. "The Death Eaters are what they are because of, you know - " he waved a hand carelessly. "Whatever it is your son's always prattling on about - "

"The City is what it is because the citizens are what they are," Theo corrected him harshly, his red-rimmed eyes finding Slughorn's in the dim light. "Do you have any idea what that even means?"

Heads swiveled uneasily towards him.

"It _means_ ," Theo informed him - a bit too gruffly, considering his rank - "that the city is only as good as its people. That _we,_ " he added angrily, "are the people who make up whatever it is you're trying to protect. It's not a tool for you to use against us," Theo snapped. "Our beliefs are not a means for you to be fucking selfish - "

He broke off as Draco jabbed an elbow warningly into his ribs.

"Your philosophy aside, Nott," Slughorn replied coldly, "it's _my job_ to keep this city safe. Not in some pseudo-intellectual concept of citizenship," he added, dripping with condescension. "But _physically unharmed._ So to say that you're now all willing to take up pitchforks against Greyback is - "

"Not without merit," Tom warned. "For all intents and purposes, Fenrir _is_ in Diagon, Horace. The only difference is that we haven't fought back."

"Yes, but once you do," Slughorn protested. "How many other lives will be lost in the process?"

Tom glanced at him, reaching down to rub the scar in his leg. "That's not my concern for the moment," he murmured, and though Slughorn's brow furrowed, the portly police chief sat back in his chair, the warning absorbed.

"Draco," Tom said, glancing up at him. "I need you and Theo to pay another visit to Gringotts."

Draco frowned, but it was Theo who spoke.

"Why?" he drawled.

Tom pursed his lips, displeased. "We've got an enemy with bombs," he said flatly. "We need some fucking _bigger guns_ , Theodore."

Theo scoffed. "Great."

Tom paused, and the room went silent.

"Theo," Tom warned, but Theo let out a bark of laughter.

"What, Tom?" he challenged. "Going to remind me in some unsubtle way that I owe my servitude to you because you saved my father's life? Go ahead," he urged irreverently. "You'll notice you're down one threat, Tom, so you might as well think of another."

"Theo," Draco hissed, grabbing his arm. _Don't,_ he mouthed, and then looked up to catch Tom's eyes on him.

"Grief can make fools of us," Tom said, to Draco rather than Theo. "It can cheapen our resolve, and tamper with our better judgment." His eyes swiveled to Theo's, narrowing as they met. "Be careful it does not consume you," he cautioned softly, and beneath his grip Draco felt Theo's forearm swell, his hand clenched tightly in a fist.

"You want us to see Griphook," Draco said, trying to tuck Theo surreptitiously behind him. "That's easily arranged."

"Do we trust him?" Lucius asked, turning to Tom. "Are we so sure he has no similar dealings with Greyback?"

"In this case, it will come down to how well we understand the devil that we know," Tom supplied, and Lucius frowned.

"But how do we - "

"Apologies," Tom interrupted. "We'll be dealing _against_ the devil that we know. The kind that shoots the messenger," he added, gesturing to Draco's scarred shoulder, "and therefore has very few pieces on the board to play, if any."

It seemed a somewhat foggy leap; Draco fought a grimace.

"So you're trusting a black market arms dealer," Slughorn repeated slowly, "because you don't think he would trust the man you wish to kill?"

Draco heard something off in Slughorn's voice; _doubt,_ he realized, and wondered what that would mean - for both the Death Eaters and Potter, whom he observed with an inward groan was now a factor in his calculations.

Much to his dismay.

"You seem to have forgotten, Horace," Tom mused softly, "that your invitation to this table has not been without restrictions." He glanced up, looking at Draco again. "Tell us, Draco," he beckoned. "Do you have any reason to suspect Griphook of duplicity?"

"No," Draco said honestly. "I don't. He likes Theo," he added, straining a bit for positivity, and hoped that behind him Theo had not rolled his eyes. "Our relationship with him is solid."

"Good," Tom confirmed smoothly, looking more pleased than Draco had seen from him in perhaps a matter of months. "And since our friend Horace seems to have some doubts," he added slowly, "perhaps you might enlighten him as to what we do here?"

A test; a good sign. An indication of trust.

"The City is the work of a man's soul," Draco said. "Justice is born from it, and so is everything else. Institutions aside, we rule ourselves from a place of justice, and from the principles of being free. And if that were not reason enough to be a Death Eater," he added, throwing in a roguish wink towards Slughorn as he caught a motion of approval from Tom, "then maybe it's worth mentioning that all I ever wanted was a Harley and a cut."

The statement was met with cheers, and Draco felt a rare moment of triumph, though approval had been absent from Theo.

"Nice speech," Theo muttered later, opening a beer. "Almost like you're _not_ going through a fucking crisis of confidence."

"Funny how I manage it," Draco agreed, tapping his bottle against Theo's.

Things were normal. Things were calm. Hierarchy was restored, and order, and he once again had Tom's favor.

And besides, he really did have the best of intentions.

Until he saw her again.

* * *

"Hey," Hermione said, picking up the phone. "You don't have to keep checking on me, you know."

"I know," Dean sighed. "But honestly, I might miss you."

"Might?" Hermione echoed, smiling.

"Might," Dean agreed, and then chuckled at something in the background. "Padma definitely does."

"Not true," she heard Padma yell. "I'm stealing your surgeries, Hermione - "

"That's true, she is," Dean confirmed. "Making a mess of them, obviously - "

"Oh _fuck off,_ Thomas - "

Hermione shook her head, smiling. "I just had a couple days off," she reminded him. "I'm coming back to work tomorrow. I'm _fine_."

"I know, I know," he muttered. "But can you really blame me for worrying?"

"Are you _actually_ worried?" Hermione asked. "Or are you just tired of checking on my patients?"

"Oh, well, _that_ , for sure," Dean said. "That Gilderoy is a real piece of work."

"Don't tell me he's complimenting _your_ tits, too," Hermione teased, and Dean's rumble of laughter echoed through the phone.

"He thinks green's not my color," he groaned, "which is crazy, because _everything_ is my color."

"So true," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Just wait til he gives you the lilac speech."

She paused as her phone buzzed in her hand; she looked down to see a message pop up on the screen.

 _ **Something funny, Doc?**_

She fought the flutter in her chest, raising her phone to her ear.

"Dean?" she asked. "Sorry, I have to run - "

"No problem," he assured her. "See you tomorrow, right?"

"Don't sleep with your eyes closed," Padma yelled into the receiver, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she confirmed, smirking. "I'll take back my rightful place tomorrow."

"Love you, mean it," Dean sang brightly into the phone, and then, amidst the sound of Padma's whining, he hung up, leaving Hermione to glance around the store.

 _ **Where are you?**_

 _ **Pharmacy,**_ he replied, and she looked up, catching sight of his bent head. _**Stocking up on my medical supplies.**_

 _ **Don't tell me you have a first aid kit.**_

 _ **I like the Disney bandaids.**_

 _ **You do not.**_

 _ **No, I don't. I don't use bandages, I just bleed.**_

 _ **So Wolverine of you.**_

 _ **You know, I thought so.**_

A pause, and then -

 _ **What are you doing here?**_

She looked around; the store was nearly empty.

 _ **You could just talk to me**_ , she offered. _**Nobody's looking.**_

 _ **Ah**_ , he responded, and she watched him grimace. _**Unfortunately I promised Potter I would keep my distance.**_

 _ **Harry mentioned something about that.**_

 _ **He's got this infuriating way of being the worst even when he's right, you know? I don't know how you stand him. He's so unbearably righteous.**_

 _ **Oh, stop,**_ she sighed. _**You're friends. I can tell.**_

 _ **We are not. He's making me miserable.**_

 _ **Is he?**_

He looked up, slowly meeting her eye before glancing back down at his phone screen.

 _ **I'm miserable. He exists. Isn't that close enough?**_

Hermione paused, thinking of what to say. _**Why did he make you promise?**_

 _ **Because I'm a very bad man, Doc. I am, in fact, the handsome stranger your parents warned you about.**_

 _ **Not funny, Draco.**_

 _ **A little funny.**_

She looked up, shaking her head at him. He gestured to her lips.

 _ **See?**_ he typed. _**You're smiling.**_

 _ **What if I tell you I'm miserable?**_

 _ **Then I'll strangle Potter.**_

She stifled a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth.

 _ **You wouldn't.**_

 _ **I absolutely fucking would. Are you kidding? If you're miserable, I'll throw him in a river.**_

 _ **Don't.**_

 _ **Are you righteous too? Fuck.**_

 _ **I'm not.**_ She glanced up, chewing her lip. _**Remember what terrible taste I have in men?**_

 _ **Ah, right. Handsome bad guys and maddeningly moral cops. Such diverse preferences. They should study you, Doc. For science.**_

 _ **I just want a man who appreciates the occasional dick speech. Is that too much to ask?**_

 _ **Anyone who doesn't appreciate them is an idiot, and I will fight them.**_

 _ **Is there anyone you wouldn't fight?**_

 _ **For you? No.**_

She brought her hand to her mouth, swallowing heavily.

 _ **What's wrong?**_ he asked.

 _ **I don't understand this,**_ she typed back. _**It doesn't make sense to me.**_

She looked up. He grimaced.

 _ **I'm trying to keep you safe. I just want you to be careful.**_

 _ **So keep me safe**_ , she replied. _**Keep the monsters out of my closet.**_

She watched him hesitate, his breath caught.

 _ **I promised.**_

She looked up at him, meeting his grey eyes from afar. He looked pained, and she glanced back down at her screen, her fingers hovering over the touchpad.

Then she turned around, dropping her phone in her purse and walking to her car.

There were at least eight times that she wanted to turn around and look behind her, to see if he would follow; but when it became clear that he wasn't going to give chase she forced herself to take a deep breath, hoping to clear her thoughts of him. Impossible, she knew, but what sort of modern woman was she if she didn't at least _try_?

She only vacantly remembered his visit in the hospital, his fingers laced with hers and a kiss she could somehow still feel, thudding around inside her ribs. Harry'd said Draco had stopped to check on her, and that he knew something had happened between them, but little else; she'd wondered if he were lying, understating what he knew to spare her feelings, but it didn't really matter.

What mattered was her empty apartment, and the fact that the person she wanted was never going to be able to fill it. The apartment, or the space in her life that she'd made for him.

She felt incomprehensibly stupid as she made her way back to her apartment, climbing the steps to her door and realizing she hadn't bought the food she'd gone to the store _for_ , and thus had nothing to eat. She shut the door behind her, pulling open the entry table drawer, and picked up the menu for the "good" Thai restaurant, cursing the timing as she thought again of Draco, of pad thai noodles and cunilingus on the couch.

She forced herself to bring to mind the context of that memory; that they'd ordered _in_ , she reminded herself, because they couldn't go _out_.

It had never been perfect. She'd just told herself it could be that way.

She threw the menu back in the drawer and shuffled into her kitchen, rifling around for anything she could find. Nothing, of course. She'd known that already. It was probably best that she wasn't hungry. She could just go to bed, get some sleep, wake up and go back to work; back to _do no harm,_ and to the life that she'd chosen for herself. Simple. Uncomplicated. Burdened by stress, but at least it was the kind she knew how to handle.

 _Go to sleep, wake up, start over_ , she told herself. Blown up and reborn, like some kind of painfully mundane phoenix, resigning herself to the most monotonous of reincarnations.

And then she heard a knock at the door.

Harry's paranoia had bled to her and she peered through the peephole first, slowly undoing the latch. She caught the hint of blond and held her breath, pulling the door open to meet his grey eyes, the depths of them clouded with torment and confusion.

"Draco," she exhaled, trying to force a smile that didn't come. "What are you doing here?"

He stared at her, his pale hair glinting in the light from outside. He was dressed no differently than usual and she took in the familiar smell of leather, the breeze from outside drifting towards her in an unavoidable caress, making her shiver.

"I can't do it," he said, his voice breaking.

She stifled a leap in her chest, trying to remind herself - _it's hard, it's so much work, there's so many secrets, he comes and he goes, he's never yours for long -_ and spectacularly failing, unable to look away from his face.

"What about keeping your distance?" she asked, and he took a step inside, his chest brushing against hers.

"I lied," he said gruffly, letting the door slam shut behind him.

* * *

 **a/n:** dedicated to orangepine!


	17. The Serpent Under't

**Chapter 17: The Serpent Under't**

"Oi, Potter," Nott said, approaching his booth at the back of the Leaky. "Draco asked me to bring you this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, downing a gulp of his coffee and holding his hand out expectantly. Nott quickly dropped his phone against Harry's palm, glancing through slanted eyes around the diner - counting bodies, Harry imagined - before sliding into the opposite booth.

"Bones' case list," Nott supplied, brisk and careless and consummately Nott-esque. Harry glanced down, torn between excitement and dread as his gaze drifted preemptively over the screen.

"Did you already read it over?" Harry asked, and a quick glance at Nott's listless expression confirmed that he had. Harry scanned the names, staring at the screen; it took him a few times to process them, as he wasn't sure what he was looking for aside from something that might tug at his gut. "Anyone on it ring a bell?"

Nott shook his head. "Nope," he replied. "Nobody on this list has any connection to Riddle. Though there _is_ someone at the bottom you might find interesting," he offered innocently, taking an unauthorized sip of Harry's coffee.

"Bogrod," Harry muttered aloud, wrapping his mouth awkwardly around the oddity of syllables. "Weird name."

"That's not it," Nott said snottily, and Harry ignored him.

" . . . Ronson, Saraanen, Smith - _oh,_ " Harry remarked, reaching the bottom of the list and shaking his head. "I assume it was Smith you meant?"

"It was," Nott confirmed, leaning back in the booth. "Zacharias Smith, purveyor of fine Greybackery and miscreant of Knockturn ill-repute," he commented melodically, nodding once. "And you'll notice he's the final name on the list."

"Well, it's not much of a surprise that it's him, is it?" Harry judged, chewing his lip. "It _was_ Scabior who was threatening Judge Bones, or someone who seemed like him." He paused, thinking. "If she was killed over any of her pending cases, it was obviously going to be one of Greyback's cronies - right?"

"Well, sure," Nott agreed briskly, "but _more_ interesting, Potter, is the fact that none of the Death Eaters are in any way implicated by this list." He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "Huh. A record for us, I think," he murmured to himself. "I should get us a celebratory banner. 'One day since last criminal proceeding' - "

"Nott," Harry sighed, snapping his fingers to break the other man's reverie. "What on earth are you implying?"

Nott smirked.

"Well, Potter, while your unrelenting lack of subtlety makes me want to bash my head into this table," Nott drawled, "I'm _implying_ that Slughorn tried to get you to bury a piece of evidence that has absolutely nothing to do with Tom Riddle or the Death Eaters." Nott glanced up, drumming his fingers pointedly against the table. "Curious," he murmured. "Don't you think?"

Potter frowned; half alarmed, half defiant. "You don't actually think Slughorn is in some way doing this _for_ Greyback, do you?"

Nott raised his hands in a facetious claim of innocence. "I never said that," he declared, though the knowing grin that slipped across his mouth was hardly reassuring. "I'm just suggesting that maybe you could stand to trust Draco and me a little more, that's all."

"Who says I don't trust you?" Harry asked, and Nott scoffed loudly, stretching upwards before rising slowly to his feet.

"You don't," he said flatly, and held out his hand for his phone, not waiting for a response. "I'll have Draco run you a hard copy if you need it. He just wanted to get it in your hands right away."

"Where is Malfoy?" Harry asked drily. "I thought you two were attached at the hip."

"Well, _my_ hips are about to get exquisitely fucked, Potter, so sometimes we fortuitously unglue," Nott remarked, shrugging. "I'm sure if you want to find him, you can."

"Hope so," Harry muttered, dropping the phone in Nott's hand and watching him offer an irreverent salute goodbye before strutting out. Harry, meanwhile, reached to finish the remains of his coffee and found the mug empty, courtesy of Nott; he sighed and headed out to his cruiser, fighting a dull yawn and preparing to finish his shift.

Harry was burdened by a doubt he wasn't fully able to shake, despite his efforts; he'd always known Slughorn was a bit too comfortable in his position, and that he was clearly a man who enjoyed favors wherever he could get them - but there was a significant gap between favors and full scale criminal conspiracy, and Harry was beginning to wonder, troublingly, whether or not he worked for a man who could fully grasp the difference.

He came home to the sound of Daphne in the shower and fell back on the couch, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping Malfoy's name.

 _ **Nott brought me Bones' case list**_ , he typed. _**What do you make of it?**_

He could practically hear Malfoy's clipped response as the text came in. _**Let's talk tomorrow.**_

Harry grimaced.

 _ **Just because Tom isn't implicated in anything this time,**_ Harry wrote, _**and just because he may not have had anything to do with Astoria**_

He stopped, not knowing what else to say; he was certain, after all, that Mulciber's stabbing and Nott Sr's death had both been Greyback's work, but he wasn't prepared to close the loop. If the anomalies were what they were, then perhaps Tom had had nothing to do with any of it - _but_ _what were the chances Tom Riddle was actually innocent?_

Harry's grimace deepened to a scowl and he promptly deleted the text, sighing audibly before rising to his feet. It wouldn't help to think about it; not _yet_ , anyway. He aimed himself at the bathroom, smiling a little at the thought of joining Daphne, but was promptly interrupted by the sound of knocking.

"Mate," he heard Ron call through the door. "I know you're home - "

Harry sighed; but by the time his lungs had emptied, he'd panicked.

"Oh, thank god," Ron said the moment he opened the door, ignoring Harry's open-mouthed protests. "Padma's working overnight, and Seamus and Dean were heading out to, I don't know, make out on their couch or whatever - which is fine," Ron said quickly. "I mean, I love it, obviously, but it's not what I felt like watching, and Seamus _always_ looks about five seconds away from blowing Dean at any given moment, so - " he shuddered. "Anyway," he said brightly, "I brought beer." He quickly shoved past Harry, setting the six pack of IPAs on the arm of the couch. "Just came from dinner at my family's and I'll tell you what, it was _rough_ \- my dad's all pissed off about some Pius Thicknesse guy being the interim replacement for Judge Bones - something about him 'not knowing the law from his -' "

"Hey, Ron," Harry interrupted, feeling his cheeks flush. "Now's, uh - " he glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom. "It's just, um, not a great time, but we can - "

"My brother Percy was being a real twat, too," Ron continued, falling back into the sofa cushions. "I told you he's on the planning commission, right? So _he's_ all up in arms too about this Thicknesse guy always stonewalling when he wants development permits or something, and - "

Ron stopped as the shower suddenly turned off. "Hey," he said, frowning at the absence of noise. "Is someone here?"

"What? No," Harry said weakly, making a somewhat uncomfortable choking sound that he'd initially intended to be a scoff. "That's just - you know, upstairs. But anyway," he continued, "that sounds like a mess, Ron, but I was going to just go to bed, you know - going to maybe read a little bit, or just watch TV - "

"Harry," Daphne sang, waltzing into the living room. "Should I fuck you on the couch tonight, or should we do the table agai- _oh,_ " she said abruptly, catching sight of Ron and pulling her towel tighter around her. "I - um." She flushed. "Weasley."

"Oh, look," Harry said weakly. "You two know each other."

The look in Ron's eyes was abruptly murderous.

"Greengrass," he acknowledged slowly, and then rose to his feet, his blue eyes narrowing as he shifted his head to meet Harry's. "Tell me you aren't," he said flatly. Across the room, Daphne's gaze sparked warningly.

"We're," Harry began, and immediately faltered. "She's just, um - "

"I'll just . . . get dressed," Daphne suggested. She backed away slowly, not quite meeting Harry's apologetic glance.

"You know what she is, right?" Ron hissed through his teeth, stepping closer to Harry the moment he'd gone. "Her _father_ was a - "

"Death Eater," Harry admitted quietly. "I know."

" _Do_ you?" Ron countered gruffly. "She's not someone you want to get mixed up with, Harry - "

"Look, you can't tell anyone," Harry said quickly. "She's - she's safer here, okay? I'm just looking out for her for a while - "

"You're looking out for _her_?" Ron said in disbelief. "Harry, believe me, Daphne Greengrass can fucking take care of herself, and - " he paused, stammering. "And what do you mean you're looking out for her? How did you even _meet_ her?"

Harry grimaced, feeling the situation spiral out of the grips of his control. "Look, it's not important, okay?" he attempted, forcing a shrug. "She's just staying here for a while, just until things calm down - "

"Who brought her here?" Ron demanded. "Nott? Malfoy? And why wouldn't you have told me?" he pressed irritably. "Jesus, _fuck_ , Harry, I'm supposed to be your partner - "

"This isn't about them," Harry protested, but Ron had transitioned from shocked to annoyed to manic in the span of half a breath.

"Harry, listen to me," Ron urged, reaching out to grip his arm. "Daphne Greengrass is as much a snake as the rest of them, okay? She may _look_ innocent," he added fiercely, "and believe me, I get the appeal - but she can't be trusted any more than the rest of them, and she's - "

"The girl you stared at in homeroom every day for four years?" Daphne asked, reappearing in the doorway and looking coldly aloof; _terribly_ beautiful. "Don't think I've forgotten, Weasley."

Ron turned scarlet. "I wasn't - "

"Jealousy isn't a great look on you," she commented, leaning against the frame. "Though it's at least a fair degree better than the time Draco beat the shit out of you."

"Oh no," Harry muttered under his breath, feeling his chest constrict with nerves.

"And where were you that day, Greengrass?" Ron countered brusquely. "Stoned with Nott behind the bleachers? Getting caught with a handle of vodka at school?"

"Ron," Harry interrupted, stepping towards him, but Daphne beat him to it.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," she warned, her voice dangerously low as she took three rapid strides towards him. "And that was over _ten years ago,_ " she growled, brandishing a finger. "People fucking _change_ , Weasley - they put a badge on your idiot ass, didn't they?"

"Last I checked, _I_ never pulled a gun on anyone at a house party," Ron snarled back, and for a moment Harry faltered, feeling his heart thrum loudly in his throat. "That was just _you_ , wasn't it, Greengrass?"

It took a moment, but the flash in Daphne's eyes promptly restarted Harry's pulse. "Ron," Harry said warningly, reaching out to grip his arm, but by then Daphne had gone rigid; something in her posture froze the movement in the room, and Ron's jaw tightened just as Harry stopped mid-stride.

"Thank you for reminding me, Weasley," she said coolly, her voice eerily quiet as she took a slow step back. "I'd almost forgotten I was capable."

For the span of a breath, the room was bathed in silence; then Harry blinked, forcing himself forward.

"Ron," Harry said again, finally finding his voice as he caught the motion of Daphne's hands shaking. "Ron, I think you should go."

There was a moment where he thought Ron would argue, catching a twitch in his stance; but then, just as quickly, Ron pivoted abruptly, turning to face Harry.

"I don't know how this happened," he muttered, "and I don't know what this means about who you've been spending time with - "

"Ron," Harry said, shaking his head. "Please."

Ron's face blanched and then he turned to the door, pausing once. "I won't tell anyone about this," he said, not turning over his shoulder. "But I hope you know what the fuck you've gotten into," he finished, letting the door slam behind him.

At first, neither of them moved. Daphne brought her hands up, letting them float over her upper arms as she stared blankly into nothing; Harry, feeling helpless, tried repeatedly to string together words that might be even remotely sufficient.

"Daphne," he began, but she interrupted, the unreadable expression on her face abruptly changing as she looked up to meet his eye.

"I was stoned with Theo quite a lot after my dad died," she said, and Harry shook his head.

"You don't need to explain anything," he said quickly. "You're right, it was ten years ago - and I shouldn't have let Ron talk to you like that - "

"I think he only did it to make me feel better. Theo, I mean," she clarified, ignoring him. "He likes being in control of his faculties. The vodka, though," Daphne continued, taking a step towards him. "My mom had it in the house. I found it, and I meant to throw it away, but I got caught with it on campus." She paused, taking a steadying breath. "I thought it would be better to get suspended than to get rid of it somewhere she could find."

"Daphne," Harry whispered, but she shook her head, stepping in front of him.

"I don't need you to be my knight in shining armor," she murmured, reaching out to toy with his collar, unsmiling. "You don't have to defend my honor."

"Don't I?" Harry asked weakly; an apology of sorts. "Shouldn't I?"

She glanced up, considering him.

"The gun," she began, and then placed her hands on his chest, letting him settle his lightly on her waist as she slowly raised herself on tiptoe. "That's a story you'll have to earn," she whispered, and he lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers.

"I plan on it," he assured her, but she still didn't smile.

"Careful, Officer Crimefighter," she said against his lips. "Haven't you heard I can't be trusted?"

* * *

Theo cracked his knuckles once, loudly, before knocking on Fleur's door.

"Hey," he said as the door opened, but stopped abruptly as he caught the eye of the person standing within the frame. "Oh," he remarked dully, frowning. "Is, uh - is Fleur home?"

"Yes, she is," the very neatly-muscled shirtless man said, mischief flashing briefly in his blue-grey eyes as he leaned against the door. "Are you a gentleman caller?"

"I'm," Theo began, and tilted his head. "Calling," he agreed carefully. "So that's at least half true."

The man laughed, making a show of it; he tilted his head back, letting amusement flood his eyes and warm its way back down to his mouth. "Oh, you are excellent," he declared, his gaze raking somewhat uncomfortably over Theo. They were the same height, Theo noted, but this man seemed to somehow take up more space in the universe. "What's your name, gentleman caller?"

"I'm Theo. And you are - " Theo paused. "Fleur's landlord, I hope?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Cedric, could you put a goddamn shirt on," he heard Fleur snap from behind him, shoving the man aside to take Theo by the wrist and pull him into the apartment. "God, could you not throw yourself at everything that moves for _five seconds -_ "

"I'm her roommate, Cedric Diggory," the man who was apparently Cedric Diggory offered with a chuckle, closing the door behind them. "Has Fleur not mentioned me?"

"I - " Theo paused, gaping at him. "You're - " He stopped again, turning to Fleur. " _This_ is the 'utter cunting roommate'?" Theo asked her, and then grimaced, turning back to Cedric. "Sorry - no offense, man."

"None taken," Cedric assured him, winking. "I'm both those things."

"Yes, a cunt _and_ a roommate," Fleur confirmed, rolling her eyes before giving Theo a kiss, tasting rather unfairly deliciously of coffee and chocolate and a flashback to an artificially lit office and sex on a mahogany desk. "I didn't think you were coming over."

"Well, when you said you were free, I - " Theo trailed off, not quite ready to abandon the subject at hand as Cedric stood beside him, one hand curled around a knowing grin. "I thought your roommate was a girl?"

"I _let_ you think my roommate was a girl," Fleur corrected, shrugging. "More fun that way," she said, "and anyway, I wasn't about to admit Viktor went for Cedric over me."

"In fairness," Cedric chimed in, "I'm really rather persuasive when I set my mind to something."

"You certainly are, which I don't appreciate," Fleur retorted, glaring at him. "And can you _leave,_ please?"

"What, and not take Theo through the intensive screening process?" Cedric asked in mocking disbelief, drawing a hand to his bare chest. "Fleur, is this your first day?"

"I'm going to need someone to explain this dynamic to me," Theo commented, glancing between them briefly before Fleur suddenly shoved him down, pressing him into a seat at the kitchen table.

"Viktor was easy prey," she informed Cedric, one hand still gripping Theo's shoulder. " _This_ one's big game hunting."

"I - " Theo began, wondering if he were offended by the comparison, but stopped. "No, just let me bask in that, thanks."

"I feel like he could be convinced," Cedric mused softly, plopping into the seat beside Theo's and smiling mercilessly at him. "But," he continued, addressing Theo again, "if you're going to date Fleur, then you'll need to abide by my rules."

"Oh Christ," Theo muttered under his breath. "Which are?"

"Well, she's very stressed right now," Cedric informed him, making a face at her and transacting her look of disapproval for his own mocking smile, "so she'll need to come at least three times." He paused. "An _hour_ ," he clarified.

"Theo's got it covered," Fleur assured him, taking a sip of coffee before sitting down beside Theo and slipping her feet into his lap. "He's better than you are, Cedric. Especially at oral," she added, as Cedric made a haughty expression of skepticism.

"Okay, _what_?" Theo exclaimed, and Fleur shrugged.

"Like he said, I get stressed," she said simply, and Theo shook his head at her.

"You know, I may _look_ like I'm some Catholic mother's worst nightmare brought to life, but I demand romance from you," he informed her, closing his hand around her ankle and drumming his point into bone. "The traditional kind, too, where I have some understood claim of exclusivity to your" - he paused, waving a hand over her - "nethers."

"Well, sure," Fleur agreed, giving his thigh a nudge with the arch of her foot. "But I have to make sure you're fully sane before I commit to anything, you know."

"Oh, is he a little unhinged, too?" Cedric asked. "Fleur, princess, you're so predictable."

" _Excuse_ me," Theo trumpeted, but was promptly cut off pre-rant.

"Theo's mad with grief," Fleur supplied on his behalf, nodding once as Theo sighed loudly in exasperation. "Though I'm not convinced he was all that sane before that." She took another sip, casting a long look at Theo before arching a brow at Cedric. "He threatened Viktor at gunpoint, you know."

"Good," Cedric ruled. "Viktor's an adulterous twat."

"He cheated on me with _you_ ," Fleur shot back.

"Yes," Cedric confirmed simply, "but having good taste doesn't right a wrong." At Fleur's expression of displeasure, Cedric paused, eyeing Theo closely. "Grief, you said?"

Theo's stomach turned. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Yes," Fleur replied for him. "His father died."

"Oh _no,_ " Cedric said, shaking his head. "How?"

Something loud and oppositional sprinted through Theo's head but he silenced it, shoving into a corner of his mind.

"Explosion," Theo offered, his chest yielding just enough to accommodate a compulsory hollow laugh. "Murder by ignition bomb."

There was a pause, and Theo listened to the sound of himself forcing a heavy swallow. Fleur's dark blue eyes fell on his, lingering gently around the edges of his face, but he stared intently at his lap, waiting for the excruciating silence to subside.

"Christ," Cedric remarked, blanching. "Maybe _you_ need to come three times."

"Maybe he does," Fleur agreed, suddenly nudging Theo's chair back and clambering astride his lap, settling her arms around his neck. "Do you?" she whispered, kissing him once, and then twice, and then a third time, drawing him in on a reel of her own unconquerable design. "Do you want me to make it better, Theo?"

"This is very confusing," he murmured into her mouth, aware of Cedric's eyes on them. "I am very hard, and deeply confused."

"How hard, would you say?" Cedric mused, and Fleur reached a hand out to shove his head away, catching Cedric's face with her palm.

"Go away," she said, leaning away to take the back of Theo's neck in her hands. "This one's _mine_ ," she murmured, and Theo felt his mouth twitch into a smile, deciding he luxuriated in the assertion.

"Okay, sure, I hear you," Cedric agreed, "but as an _option -_ "

"Cedric," Theo mumbled, unclasping Fleur's bra beneath her shirt and slipping it out under the fabric. "Don't take this personally," he began, pressing his lips to Fleur's clavicle, "as you seem like a nice guy" - a kiss between her breasts - "but it would take me about five seconds" - a gasp from Fleur as his fingers slipped into her black leggings - "to have the barrel of my Glock" - a groan as her hands met his zipper - "at the center of your fucking forehead."

Cedric chuckled, resignedly making his way to his feet. "You kids," he declared fondly, shaking his head as he headed to his room. "You can have the kitchen for an hour," he yelled over his shoulder, and then slammed the door shut, leaving them alone.

Theo reached his hands up, tangling his fingers in Fleur's loose blonde hair; she was more casual than he'd ever seen her and just as beautiful, though decidedly softer, having traded the tight skirts and heels for bare feet and cotton. "What are you stressed about?" he asked, closing his eyes as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, running it playfully along his teeth and then pulling back to smirk at him.

"Oh, just Bogrod making a mess of everything," she said, shrugging, and then shifted lower on his lap. "The usual," she offered, kissing his lips and then his chin, his jaw, his neck.

Theo frowned as her fingers traveled to his bare chest, the name beating itself against the inside of his skull as she pulled his shirt over his head. "Bogrod?" he echoed vacantly.

"Yeah," Fleur supplied, climbing out of his lap to settle herself between his knees, tugging impatiently at his zipper. "Just one of the many delightful lowlife creeps Griphook's done some business with." She tugged at the lip of his jeans, biting lightly on his exposed hip bone before guiding his cock from his boxers, slipping it under the elastic band. "He's a Gringotts regular," she explained, "and almost _guaranteed_ to squeal in court next week, so I've spent the last few days just covering my tracks. Falsifying records," she supplied, grinning up at him as she flicked her tongue over his tip. "You know how it goes."

"He's - " Theo shut his eyes, suffering the unsteady tremor of her touch. "Would - what's Griphook going to - "

"Theo," she coaxed, batting her lashes as she paused to look up at him. "Is that really what you want to talk about right now?"

He swallowed, staring down at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "It's just" - _Bogrod,_ he abruptly remembered, catching Potter's unwelcome frown in a sudden flash of recognition as he recalled Amelia Bones' case list; _Bogrod,_ _weird name_ \- "I mean," he attempted to force out, "if you've got a trial, or - if I'm - distracting you - "

"Theo," Fleur said again, sliding her hand around his cock with a slow, taunting motion, "I never do this for anyone. Look at me," she added regally, gesturing to herself. "I don't have to, do I?"

"No," Theo agreed, sucking in a breath. "You don't. I'd give my right arm just to make you come," he said adamantly, "much less - " he hissed out an exhale, throwing his head back as she slid her lips over his tip again. "Much less _this -_ "

"Well, then I appreciate your full attention," Fleur said primly, reaching to tear her tank top over her shoulders and smirking as his gaze drifted immediately to her breasts. "There," she teased, resting her palms lightly on his thighs. "Was that so hard?"

"Fuck," Theo panted, lifting his hips as she took him in her mouth. The thoughts that had run through his mind - that what if it wasn't _Tom_ connected to the case list but _Griphook,_ and what would happen if he couldn't make Bogrod shut his mouth, and _who would Griphook trust to take care of it if he needed someone silenced?_ \- promptly fled comprehension.

 _It wouldn't be Fleur,_ he thought, _criminal or not, she was too good a person -_

"Theo," she whispered to him after she'd made him come, her lips floating over his abdomen as he sat weak and boneless and sated, "if you hurt me, I know at least eleven ways to make you disappear without a trace. I've done it before," she added, replacing her lips with her teeth and prompting him to jolt forward in surprise, "and I can do it again."

He knew without a trace of doubt that it wasn't a lie, and welcomed the chill that raced up his spine.

Theo leaned forward, catching her lips with his. "I look forward to the acute torment of falling in love with you," he replied. "But believe me, we're not done here."

* * *

 _I lied,_ he'd said, and then she'd been in his arms - a place she was notoriously without much common sense - his eyes falling to hers and bathing her in a rapturous rush of insanity that drove a sigh from her lips, escaping with frustrating ease into the waiting pressure of his kiss.

"Wait, wait, _wait,_ " she forced out, her fingers coiling desperately in the fabric of his collar, holding him still; _stay with me,_ she wanted to beg, as much as she wanted to shout _get out._ "Draco, I can't - I can't keep doing this, it's - I'm - "

"I can't do it," he said gruffly. "I can't be away from you, Hermione, I _can't -_ "

"You can't keep toying with me like this," she insisted, forcing herself not to look at him; knowing, with a twist in her gut, that if she met his eye she'd once again let him do whatever he wanted, and that her thoughts would give chase long after he was gone. "If you're going to be here you have to _be here,_ Draco, you can't - you can't keep doing this to me - "

"I don't want to do this to you," he protested, and she could hear the edge of pain in his voice. "I don't want to leave you, Doc, I never did, I was just trying to - "

"To keep me safe?" she interrupted, tearing herself away and taking two steps back - just out of arm's reach, holding herself still. "Draco, you can't keep saying that. You can't keep saying it like it means something, and then keep _showing up,_ it's - I can't - "

She forced herself to stop talking, feeling herself start to cry; she wasn't a crier, never had been, but it seemed she was overdue, her frustrations boiling up somewhere in her chest to leak out of her mouth, slipping from the reach of her control. "If you're going to be here, Draco," she said slowly. "You have to _stay._ "

He paused, looking torn. She watched him struggle the same way he had in the hospital, bearing that same suspended agitation that had been twisted, contorted, withheld; a forward motion that was disrupted, pushed to the edge of breaking as he held himself back.

"I want to stay," he said, almost like he were begging her for permission. "I _want_ to stay."

"That's not enough," she told him. "You have to do it. You have to choose me, Draco."

He flinched, looking at his hands. "It's not that easy."

"Of course it's not easy," Hermione said, feeling herself start to shake and clutching at her own arms, trying to rein herself in. "I understand what you're trying to do, but - but I almost _died_ ," she reminded herself, managing a weighted laugh that was more like a scoff, "and you weren't there, and I'm obviously not any safer without you than I am with you - "

"Don't think for a second that hasn't crossed my mind a thousand times," Draco told her, the dragon on his forearm shifting as he clenched a fist. "It _haunts_ me, and it fucking - " he broke off, shaking his head. "I almost lost you, Hermione, and I'm not about to let it happen again - "

"If you want me," she said, trying to steady her voice, "you have to give a little, Draco. You can't keep me in the dark. You can't keep trying to protect me from things I can't possibly see or understand. You have to _trust me,_ " she insisted. "You want me to trust _you_ , but - "

"I can't tell you everything," he said quickly. "There are things you wouldn't benefit from knowing, and things that would only make it all worse - "

"Then don't tell me everything," she said. "But give me _something,_ Draco. There are things I need to know," she added, and then, softer, "There are things I _need._ " She let out a shaky exhale, meeting his gaze with something she knew - she _knew_ \- was sadness and exposure and vulnerability. She felt foolish, and alone, and on the precipice of disaster - and yet she persisted, stupidly, for lack of options, because it seemed she never had much of a choice when it came to him.

She shook her head, resigned. "We can't just keep crashing into each other like this," she finally exhaled, hoping that would be enough.

Draco sobered for a moment, staring at her; then he nodded slowly, seeming to understand that it was his turn.

"It will never be normal," he told her. "It will still feel - caged." He looked mournful; she felt the sting. "I've spent my entire life keeping secrets," he explained, looking as though he wanted to laugh. "I've perfected them, you know? Perfected the art of keeping things to myself. Of knowing that's important, and sacrificing everything for the life I chose."

Hermione waited, watching the glow of light that fell across his shoulders. He was beautiful, and it wasn't fair.

"I never wanted normal," Draco said. "I chose this life because I wanted more than monotony - because I wanted _freedom_. Because I wanted - " he paused, grimacing, and then suddenly cut himself off with a shake of his head, pulling his gun from his waistband.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, his expression abruptly hardening as he closed his mouth around whatever he'd been about to say. "I'm a criminal, Hermione," he reminded her fiercely, setting the gun down on her entry table so that she was forced to look at it; to see the way he held it so naturally. "Everything that Potter and Weasley told you that I am, _I am_. I've hurt people, I've stolen from people, I've fucked with people's lives and livelihoods and I've made people _bleed_ , Hermione - and I've fucking bled for my mistakes, and that's - "

He closed his eyes. "That's not what I want for you," he finished hoarsely.

She forced herself to swallow, finding her breath caught in her throat.

"I suppose," she said quietly, "I'm an idiot if I say I want you anyway, aren't I?"

He shook his head. "I'm the idiot," he informed her. "I knew better. I knew from the day I met you that if you were lucky - "

He broke off, bringing a hand to his mouth. "I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, choking on the bitterness of it. "I want you _so_ fucking badly - badly enough to throw everything away and fucking _run_ , but - " He stopped, grimacing. "But when you do things like I've done, you can't outrun them. There's no such thing. My actions have consequences, and there's nothing I can do. I could love you," he added, half laughing in an absurdly cruel moment of capitulation. "Maybe I do love you. Maybe I fucking _love you_ ," he said frantically, "but it doesn't matter, because you shouldn't let me - "

It took a moment before he caught his breath, but then he was colder; quieter.

Resigned.

"You're a surgeon, Doc," he finished roughly. "Just cut me out of your life."

He let out a breath, and Hermione stared at him.

It was funny, she thought, that he would find a way to bring it back to that; to something she understood, something _easy._ A painful growth, and a scalpel. That he would compare himself so accurately to something that could haunt her, shred her apart from the inside out, hollow out her bones and fester in her intestines; like he were something that could be severed and discarded. If she were Padma, she knew, she would do it. If she were Dean, he would do it. But she'd never been like them, and perhaps she would pay the price.

 _It would almost certainly end badly,_ she thought; but when she opened her mouth, something else came out.

"If you're going to be here, you'll need to follow some rules," she said, and he looked up at her, startled. "No more avoiding my questions. You'll tell me the truth, or as much of the truth as you can, but no more 'you don't need to know.' Okay?"

His pale brow furrowed and then arched, transitioning from confusion to surprise to curiosity. "Okay," he croaked.

"You'll teach me how the hell to even use that gun," she added, gesturing to her table. "It doesn't do me much good unless I know how it works."

A tentative smile pulled at his lips. "Okay."

"It doesn't have to be normal," she continued. "We can still keep it a secret if that's what needs to happen. But you don't get to disappear on me," she warned, brandishing a finger at him. "No mysterious texts, no running away. You're in this." Her mouth tightened warningly. "Do you understand?"

His grey eyes flashed in comprehension. "Yes," he murmured, dragging his tongue across his lips.

"We both agree," she said, inhaling sharply and staring him down, "that this probably won't work, and it might end soon and it might" - _will_ , she thought, but bit her tongue - "end badly, but we're going to try. Okay?" she prompted. "We _try_."

His eyes fluttered shut, and then opened. "Yes," he said, his eyes flicking over her face. "Yes, we try."

"Because I don't care what you did or how it catches up with you," she admitted. "And I know I will probably regret that someday, but it's worth it." She looked up at him, letting her arms drift down to her sides. " _You_ are worth it," she judged softly, and something like longing passed over his face, his lips parting just slightly as he took a step closer, entering the outer reach of her space.

He waited for a moment; purposeful hesitation.

"Since you're the one making rules," he murmured. "Can I come closer?"

She held her breath, watching him. "Yes," she said, feeling her heart thud percussively in her chest.

He took one step, his chest a hair's distance from hers.

"Can I touch you?" he whispered, and she nodded, unable to speak as he leaned forward, brushing one of her loose curls behind her ear. His fingers skated gently over her skin, tucking behind her jaw and then tracing slowly down the line of her neck as he pulled his hand away, resting it back at his side.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, and she nodded again, lifting her chin. He lowered his head and she closed her eyes, expectant, but his lips fell instead on her forehead, grazing her temple. "Again?" he asked, and she gave him another nod, holding her breath as his lips brushed her eyelid; first one, then the other.

"Again?"

His lips on her cheek.

"Again?"

Her nose.

"Again?"

Her lips, soft at first, and tentative; at odds with the pounding of her heart.

"Again," he whispered into her mouth, and she kissed him back, her head spinning as she fought not to fall against him, half expecting her knees to buckle.

"Can I take these off?" he murmured, his fingers drifting to her jeans. She nodded and he peeled them off, slowly, bending to slip the cuff of them from her ankles one by one, his lips grazing the side of her knee.

"Sorry," he said, smiling slightly. "Can I kiss you here?"

She nodded, and he pressed his lips to her thigh, his fingers tracing over the place his mouth had been.

He rose slowly, coming to his feet and tugging at the hem of her shirt.

"This," he said. "Can I take this off?"

"Yes," she whispered, and he slid her t-shirt up over her abdomen, his fingers tracing the skin of her stomach before he slipped it over her head, letting it fall to the floor.

"Can I kiss you here?" he asked, brushing a finger over the curve of her breast, and she forced herself to nod. She watched his pale blond head lower to the line of her practical beige lace-trimmed bra, his lips cool against the thin material.

"Here?" he asked, his thumb under the lip of her bra. She nodded.

He slid the material away, tracing his tongue over her nipple.

"Here?"

He did the same to the other side, the motion slow and rousingly sweet.

"Here?"

He pressed a kiss to the space between her breasts, her heart thudding beneath it.

"Here?"

His tongue drifted down her stomach, ending with a kiss at her navel. He stopped just above her underwear and looked up, settling himself on his knees as he brought his mouth to the outside of the cotton fabric, letting the heat of his breath cling to the dampened material.

"Here," he whispered. "Will you let me kiss you here?"

She nodded, and he slid the underwear down her thighs, bringing his mouth between her legs.

At first, it _was_ a kiss of sorts, careful and tender and delicate; and then his tongue slid against her and she gasped, her fingers finding their way to his hair and scraping against his scalp.

"Sorry," he murmured. "May I?"

She forced out an answer this time.

"Yes," she rasped. " _Please_."

She watched him smile, watched his tongue flick over her clit; watched his mouth press against her, languid and careful and slow. The other times had been urgent, desperate, frantic; this was _controlled_ , and she'd been the one to give permission but he was still the one to rule her, motion by motion, until she thought she might lose her mind.

"Draco," she gasped, suffering the familiar crescendo; the pulse, the heat, the tempting - _taunting_ \- just-out-of-reach that nagged at her core, burning and building and bruising.

"Will you," he asked quietly, pausing to lick, "let me make you come?"

She dug her nails into his shoulders, gritting her teeth as she whimpered something like concession, and he seemed to grasp the point. What had been a slow, thundering build fell over her like a crash, a wave of something absolute, crushing her beneath it until she sagged into his arms, drifting into him as she sank down to her knees.

"Can I hold you?" he asked, and she nodded with her lips against his neck, her fingers absently spreading against the raised edges of his spine; she held him against her as he wrapped her in his arms, an inescapable confinement - not that she felt much like running.

"Can I stay with you?" he begged in her ear, and she nodded again, closing her eyes and letting the sound of his pulse ground her to the moment, frozen and vacant and calm.

 _It would almost certainly end badly_ , she thought as he lay her back against the floor, whispering permission as her hands floated to his jeans.

 _It would almost certainly end badly_ , she thought, giving in and catching her breath.

 _It would almost certainly end badly._

It just wouldn't end _tonight._

* * *

 **a/n:** The chapter title comes from Shakespeare, specifically the Voldemort of plays: _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't._ Dedicated to MattsMiss!


	18. A Quake From a Tremble

_**a/n:**_ _An elevated level of physical violence in this chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 18: A Quake From a Tremble**

There was a moment when Hermione looked around the room and couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. She took in the sight of Tom Riddle with his gun to Theo Nott's forehead and suddenly flashed back to what felt like nothing, what seemed like a _blur_ ; just a normal day, and then one man's gun to another man's head, as though she'd simply been turned to stone as the scene mechanized around her. She caught the blood dripping from Draco's nose onto Harry's arms and forced herself to focus, to calm the buzzing of her thoughts, to return to the hesitant half-smile Draco had given her when he'd entered; to recall the secret in the space between them that she'd wanted to curl her fingers around and hold close, only to discover that it had risen up to choke her.

"I apologize for the violence," Tom said evenly, not taking his eyes from Theo's face. The portly police chief behind him looked about as frozen as Hermione felt and Draco's eyes flashed as he watched, sweat mixing in with blood.

Hermione blinked, registering fear.

Then Tom looked up, and time restarted.

* * *

 _ **Seventeen Hours Earlier**_

* * *

"Ah, marvelous," Dean declared. "You've returned!"

"I have," Hermione said neutrally, nudging him away as he smacked his lips against her cheek. Dean grinned, leaning back to throw an arm around her shoulders.

"Patil," he barked, turning to Padma. "Rosmerta's tonight to celebrate Dr Granger's return to the land of the living?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione hastily demurred, thinking of the blond man she'd rather hoped to have in her bed two nights in a row. "I'm not sure if I'm up for - "

"Absolutely," Padma cut in instantly, leaning over to look at Hermione. "And you're going," she warned, jabbing a finger at her across Dean's chest. "I won't take no for an answer."

Hermione sighed. "You never do," she muttered, sparing a glare for each of them. "Aren't you two supposed to be my friends?"

"We are," Dean said firmly. "Which is _why_ , my angel, we are so very desperate to celebrate your life."

"Oh, my _life,_ is it?" Hermione asked, making a face. "Because it really seems more like the two of you just want me dead."

"Oh, we do," Padma assured her smugly. "But since you _happen_ to still be alive - " she shrugged. "L'chaim, I say."

Dean batted his lashes coquettishly at her, and she groaned.

" _Fine_ ," Hermione muttered, giving in. "But just one drink, okay?"

"Two," Padma countered.

"Four," Dean suggested.

"Twenty four," they said in unison, grinning, and Hermione threw her hands in the air.

"This is not a negotiation," she informed them. "One drink, and then I'm _going home_ \- got it?"

"Oh my god, Dr Granger, was it?" Dean drawled, making a face. "Or was it Dr Fun-Suck?"

"Paging Dr Buzzkill," Padma sang, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You know, what's amazing is that you're both brilliant medical professionals," she commented, "and yet here I am, consistently underwhelmed by your combined wit."

"Says more about you than it does about us," Dean informed her, tapping her nose. "So you're in, then?"

"Yes," she grumbled. "You've bullied me into socializing yet again."

"Well done us," Dean declared airily, as Padma feigned a curtsy.

"I'll have Ron bring Harry," she said, glancing down at her phone. "Though Ron texted me that he was upset about something with Harry yesterday, so maybe he won't want to - " she stared into nothing for a moment, seemingly trying to recall. "Oh, who can remember?" she eventually declared, shrugging. "I'll tell him to bring Harry anyway."

"You think Ron was upset about Harry?" Hermione echoed, frowning. "That seems - "

 _Unlikely,_ she was going to say, but then she inexplicably remembered Draco glancing down at his phone screen the night before, a brief moment of consternation burying itself in his brow.

He'd opened his mouth to say something - to assure her the message was nothing, she assumed - but she had stopped him with a look; he laughed, recalling their earlier agreement, and shook his head quickly. _It's Potter,_ he explained, rapidly typing a response and then putting the phone away. _But it's nothing. He wanted to talk about something, but it can wait._

The idea that Harry would need to talk about something with Draco was an odd one, to say the least, but given Draco's initial distress over keeping his distance _\- I promised,_ he'd said, as though that promise had actually meant something _-_ she was starting to suspect the unsteady relationship wasn't quite what they were passing it off to be.

 _When did you get to be friends?_ she asked, vaguely amused, but Draco had only made a face.

 _We're not,_ he said flatly. _He just -_ _Potter's helping me with something, and vice versa._

 _Ah, workplace associates,_ Hermione mused sagely, and Draco rolled his eyes. _And what was that you said about me being dangerous because I was friends with him?_

 _You're still dangerous,_ he assured her, kissing her quickly once and then a second time, slower. _For that, and a variety of other reasons, of course._

She quirked a brow. _You'll have to give me a bit more,_ she warned, catching his chin in her fingers and stilling him. _What exactly is it that you're doing for Harry?_

 _Ah, that's the boring part,_ Draco assured her, stifling a yawn. _I helped him get a case list for a judge who was murdered._

 _Okay,_ she said tentatively. _And the interesting part?_

Draco flinched apprehensively. _He's helping me figure out who killed a girl I used to know,_ he murmured, and Hermione had instinctively held her breath, watching the look on his face change at the mention of her.

She let a moment pass, and then, softly - _was it someone you loved?_

He paused before letting his grey eyes settle slowly on hers. _I thought so, at one time,_ he admitted. He reached out, brushing a thumb over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

 _And now?_ she asked.

He shrugged. _I'm not sure I knew what love was at the time,_ he confessed, running his hand reverently across the line of her neck.

"Hermione," Padma snapped, waving a hand in her face. "Did you hear me?"

"What?" Hermione asked, startled. "No - "

"I was waiting for you to finish your sentence, but that seemed like a lost cause," Padma informed her, sniffing disdainfully. "Ready to see Gilderoy again?" she asked, gesturing towards his room down the hall. "One of the nurses made the mistake of laughing at one of his jokes and now he's on some kind of stand-up comedy kick."

"Great," Hermione sighed. "Marvelous."

"Ah, the joys of being alive," Dean said, blowing her a kiss.

* * *

"Hey," Draco remarked in surprise, walking into the Manor to run directly into a feebly mobile Darian. "I didn't know you were out of the hospital."

Darian offered him a weak smile. "Figured it'd be better not to make a fuss," he explained, shrugging. "Considering what happened to Tom, and to Nott - "

"Well, Tom's fine," Draco reminded him, grimacing. "You, on the other hand - "

"I'm fine, too," Darian said firmly, glancing cautiously over his shoulder as though Draco's concern might infect someone. "A little marked up, but nothing serious."

"Yeah," Draco scoffed. "Nothing serious at all." At a second apprehensive glance around from Darian, Draco changed course, clearing his throat. "So," he ventured. "It was Greyback, then?"

"Couldn't say," Darian said uneasily. "Knocked me out from behind first."

Draco grimaced. "But if you were to guess - "

"I don't guess," Darian said firmly, and then forced an expression that read like a grimace. "That's for people higher up than me to speculate."

"Tom, you mean," Draco guessed, and Darian shrugged again. "Is he going to take this seriously, then?"

"I have to imagine so," Darian remarked. "The bomb on his Harley was about as blatant as it gets," he added pointedly, "and I'm fairly certain there's nothing Tom hates more than an unsubtle opponent."

"True," Draco muttered, shaking his head. "It was _stridently_ unclever."

Darian pursed his lips, offering a somewhat tacit agreement. "Speaking of strident," he said, arching a brow. "How's Theo doing?"

Draco shrugged. "As well as to be expected, I suppose."

"Mm." Darian chewed his lip, thinking. "Keep an eye on him."

"Why?" Draco asked, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Darian replied reflexively, but at Draco's look of skepticism, he let out a sigh of resignation. "Come on, Draco, you know what he's like," Darian told him. "He doesn't internalize well."

"So?" Draco pressed. "Theo's not an idiot."

"No, he's not," Darian agreed, "but he's not thinking straight, either. And Theo when he _is_ thinking straight is already questionable enough as it is," he added, and Draco fought a smirk, "so I'd just hate to see him anger the wrong people out of grief, or his usual tendency towards petulant antagonism." Darian forced a smile, gripping Draco's shoulder. "Just tell him to bite his tongue, would you?"

Draco wanted to feel reassured by the contact, but couldn't quite shake his disturbance at the statement; he shifted under Darian's hand, glancing sharply at his face. "Is there something you know, Mulciber?" he asked, and Darian's mouth tightened in response.

"I know nothing," he reminded Draco, and this time the look on his face was undoubtedly a grimace. "Which is a practice I recommend."

* * *

"I have to go," Theo explained apologetically, pulling on his jeans. "Have to grab Draco before we head back to Gringotts later."

"Ah, fine," Fleur murmured sleepily. "Keep me up half the night and then scamper out the door, why don't you - "

"I don't scamper," Theo informed her, yanking on his shoes and then falling on the bed beside her, bending to press a kiss to her shoulder. "If anything, I trot."

"Like a show pony?" she mumbled.

"Sure," he permitted fondly.

"Don't piss off Viktor when you see him today," Fleur warned, her voice muffled into her pillow. "He's not exactly someone you want to fuck with long term."

"Why?" Theo countered indignantly, making a face. "What's he going to do, furrow his brow at me?"

"He's got a lot of guns," Fleur supplied, shrugging. "And some explosives, I'm pretty sure," she added, as though she'd just remembered, "so I'd imagine he could do some damage if he ever felt up for it."

"Explosives," Theo echoed, fighting an uncomfortable motion in his stomach. "Interesting." He brushed the long blonde hair over her shoulder, circling the bone with his thumb. "You won't be there today?"

"Don't need to," she replied. "Prior arrangement between Riddle and Griphook, I believe."

Theo frowned. "The arrangement being?"

Fleur shrugged again. "Not my business," she said. "The only numbers I concern myself with are the red ones. By the way," she added, turning on her back to face Theo and reaching up to run her thumb along his lip. "I'm working tonight, but I'm free tomorrow."

Theo grinned, nipping at her finger. "Are you wanting some sparkling wine, Miss Delacour?"

"Compromise," she suggested, yawning. "Prosecco?"

"Can do." He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. "Fuck you tomorrow?"

"Fuck you then," she agreed, half a smile pulling at her lips.

He rose to his feet to head for the door but she stopped him, her hand curling itself around his wrist.

"Theo," she ventured quietly, shifting up on her elbows. "Are you okay?"

"Better than," he assured her, winking. "You're a miracle worker."

She smirked. "You'll have to deal with your actual emotions sometime, you know."

"I don't have those," Theo informed her. "Haven't you noticed?" he prompted drily, gesturing to himself. "I'm just a big mouth and terrible decisions."

Fleur shook her head, meeting his eye. "You're more than that," she corrected, and tilted her head. "I think." She shrugged. "I assume."

He chuckled. "If I decide to have any kind of emotional or psychological breakdown, I'll let you know." He disentangled his wrist from her fingers, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Sound good?"

"Don't do it in the next few hours," she said briskly, burrowing back into her sheets with a sigh. "I'm going back to sleep, and I won't take kindly to the interruption."

"Fair enough," Theo said, and then walked quietly to the door, shutting it behind him with a last glimpse of her blonde hair against the pillow.

"Oh, you're finally up," Cedric called brightly, poking his head in from the kitchen. "What do you like on your pancakes?"

"Monogamy," Theo shouted back, and then slipped out the front door.

* * *

"Hey," Malfoy said coolly, picking up a coffee from the counter and then sliding into the booth at the back of the Leaky. "What's up?"

"You look tired," Harry commented, watching him fight a losing battle to a widely unsteady yawn. "Everything okay?"

"I don't look tired," Malfoy corrected, rolling his eyes. "I _am_ tired. I _look_ fantastic."

Harry shook his head. "Charming."

"There you go," Malfoy quipped, smirking. "Now you've got it."

"Stop," Harry groaned. "So listen, I wanted to ask you about - "

"The case list," Malfoy supplied, taking a sip of his coffee. "I haven't forgotten."

"Right," Harry permitted, though that wasn't exactly the only thing on his mind. "Any thoughts on it not being connected to Tom?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Certainly makes things more complicated," he admitted slowly. "At least as far as your theories go, that is."

"I really thought Tom had something to do with Astoria," Harry said again, shaking his head. "Obviously I now know that's impossible, but - "

"It's impossible that he took the shot, sure, but that doesn't mean he didn't have something to do with it," Malfoy cut in sharply. "Right?"

Harry blinked. "I wasn't aware you shared my suspicions."

Malfoy shrugged again. "I don't," he said. "But at this point, everyone's a suspect, aren't they?" He paused, taking another sip of his coffee. "After all, I'm not the only one with an employer whose morals aren't quite as rigid as we might prefer," he added pointedly. "Am I?"

Harry grimaced. "I'd still hate to think Slughorn pulled the trigger."

"Wouldn't we all," Malfoy remarked insincerely. "But once again, you make the mistake of confusing the hand on the gun with the person that ordered the hit."

"I suppose I'm just a do-it-yourself kind of guy," Harry replied. "You'll have to excuse my lack of familiarity with the murky depths of the criminal underbelly," he added wryly, "where other people are held responsible for the dirty work."

Malfoy arched a brow. "Ouch, Potter," he drawled. "I'm positively _reeling_ from that incredibly subtle insult."

Harry smirked. "So?" he prompted, leaning forward. "What do you think? We know Slughorn wanted the list buried, and that it only seems to implicate Greyback - "

"Mm, about that," someone interrupted, and they both looked up to catch Nott grabbing Malfoy's cup of coffee, sipping it briskly and nudging Malfoy aside before returning the cup to the table. "Turns out the list implicates Griphook as well."

"What?" Malfoy asked, startled. "Since when?"

"Since I found out that weird-name Bogrod's one of the little shits Griphook deals with," Nott returned. "Saw your bike outside," he added in explanation, "and your cruiser," he added to Harry. "Figured I'd just come join you."

"My god, we should start a book club," Malfoy muttered, slinking down in his seat.

"Griphook," Harry repeated, thinking. "Is that - " he paused, glancing sharply between them. "Do you mean Griphook the arms dealer?"

"We mean Griphook the enigmatic man of many talents," Nott countered stubbornly. "Purveyor of antiquities, isn't he?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed impatiently. " _Stolen_ antiquities."

"Ah, so general ill-repute, then," Nott said, feigning surprise. "We had _no idea_ , Officer - "

"Save it," Harry muttered. "I take it this is why we had to get you from Gringotts the other day, then?" he prompted. "Because the Death Eaters work with Griphook now, too?"

"No," Malfoy reminded him with his usual air of snotty disapproval. "We had to get Theo from Gringotts because he's fucking the blonde accountant." He paused, making a show of eyeing his fingernails. "We are innocent of all else, Potter, I assure you."

Harry scoffed. "I doubt either of you have ever been innocent of much of anything."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Nott quipped, reaching for Malfoy's coffee a second time and then making a face as the other man slapped his hand away. "Anyway, I suppose that changes things."

"Does it?" Malfoy asked, frowning. "Not necessarily."

"It does if Slughorn buried the list to protect Griphook," Harry pointed out. "He could have done that for Tom, too, couldn't he?"

"I think you misunderstand the nature of our relationship with Griphook," Malfoy said, to which Harry sighed loudly.

"Imagine that," he muttered. "And after you've been so clear about it, too - "

"He _could_ have, sure, but maybe he didn't," Nott interrupted. "Are we really so sure Slughorn doesn't have an agenda of his own?"

"Seems overly convoluted," Harry said thoughtfully. "I don't really see him as the type to orchestrate something like this."

"That's certainly true," Malfoy agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Slughorn's got the intellect of a common walrus."

"He is certainly a yes man," Nott permitted. "It's possible he's working for someone who isn't Tom, but highly unlikely he's working for himself."

"I'm with you there," Harry agreed, thinking. "Who else could have been responsible for Astoria's death? Do we think - " he paused, opening his mouth to say something, and then stopped, abruptly changing his mind.

Nott and Malfoy stared at him.

"Spit it out," Malfoy snapped impatiently. Harry sighed.

"I just - " he leaned closer and then stopped, fidgeting. "It's nothing. It's stupid. Hey," he said, feigning brightness. "Just curious, do you guys know anything about Daphne holding someone at gunpoint at a house party?"

Nott and Malfoy exchanged a look.

"So," Nott ventured slowly. "Weasley got to you, then?"

Harry felt his cheeks flush. "No, I just - "

"You don't think Daphne had anything to do with it?" Malfoy interrupted, staring at him. "That's her _sister,_ Potter."

"Yes, I know, but - "

"Daphne's capable of a lot of things, but murder's not one of them," Nott said flatly. "And anyway, you're living with her - don't you think you might have noticed a homicidal impulse cropping up by now, or are you just not that good a cop?"

"Yeah," Malfoy added, permitting half a smile. "And after you've been helping her _grieve,_ too - "

Harry simultaneously growled and wilted, both resigned and annoyed. "I don't think she did it," he insisted, "I'm just trying to consider _everyone -_ "

"The shot to the shoulder," Malfoy reminded him. "The car that had followed me. These are things that would point to someone under Greyback's purview, not Daphne."

"Well, it points to someone who would _want_ you to think it was Greyback," Harry reminded him. "And again, I'm not saying I think it was her, I'm just - "

"Look," Nott cut in. "The charade aspect of this isn't Daphne. This is someone who enjoys manipulation. The gun incident is the perfect example," he added. "She did that _in public,_ and with absolutely no attempt to hide it - "

"A problematic lack of attempt, really," Malfoy clarified. "Totally different kind of psychopathy, if you think about it."

"Yes, which she's since recovered from," Nott explained quickly, "seeing as that was why she left Diagon in the first place."

"And then she moved to Knockturn," Harry reminded them. "And have you seen much of her since then?"

Nott sat back at that, shaking his head. "Your gut's all off on this, Potter," he commented brusquely, and Harry's mouth tightened.

"I keep telling you, I don't actually think it was her," he protested. "I'm just - I just can't - "

"Your gut really _is_ off, isn't it?" Malfoy murmured quietly, and to Harry's surprise, he found that - for _once_ \- the other man wasn't mocking him. His brow was carefully furrowed, as though he were considering Harry for the first time. "Putting some undue stress on your moral compass, are you, Potter?"

Harry raked a hand through his hair wearily. "I'm talking to two criminals about a murder investigation because I don't trust my boss," he reminded them. "I fought with my partner and now I'm looking for reasons why my - " he paused, careful not to let any word that might have crossed his mind escape the confines of his tongue. "I'm looking for bullshit reasons why _Daphne_ might have killed someone," he amended slowly, "just because I can't rectify the person Ron sees with the person that she is, and suddenly everyone looks guilty and yet _no one_ looks guilty - so yeah," he declared roughly, "I'd say I'm having some fucking _undue stress_ \- "

"The shit with Weasley is bad blood," Malfoy cut in flatly, waving a hand. "He hates all of us, and we hate him. Doesn't mean any of us are inherently bad people."

"I'm not sure he would agree," Harry muttered, and Nott scoffed.

"Yeah, because we're _better_ people," he sniffed. "We just don't all have room for the fucking metaphorical clydesdale he's got on call."

"Is that supposed to be a high horse?" Harry asked, and Nott made a face.

"Christ, Potter," he muttered. "You're about as nuanced as an _actual_ clydesdale."

"Look, if your gut says to trust us, it's not wrong," Malfoy interrupted, leaning towards Harry across the table. "And it's not wrong about Daphne, and it's probably not wrong about Weasley. And if your gut says Tom, or Slughorn - " he shrugged. "We wait until we can prove it is. We keep looking."

Harry paused, glancing at the table before looking up to meet the other man's eye. "That's quite a vote of confidence, Malfoy."

Malfoy shrugged. "Yeah, well, it was my decision to bring you in on this," he reminded him flatly. "If I were any less certain, I'd be an idiot, which is something I generally avoid."

"He fails on most occasions, but the effort is truly spectacular," Nott agreed, rising to his feet. "Is that all, Potter?" he asked, rolling out his neck and then angling himself at the door. "Malfoy and I have business to take care of."

Harry glanced sharply at Malfoy, who shrugged. "Bikes to fix," he explained, his teeth flashing as he smiled insincerely. "Automotive repair, et cetera. You understand," he added, the corners of his mouth twitching.

But Harry decidedly did _not_ understand. In reality, Harry's intestines knotted with an indefinable dread at the implication, and as he watched Malfoy yawn again - he recalled that Nott had not known where Malfoy had been the night before, and felt a sudden troubling alignment of his thoughts - Harry considered where they might have been off to next, and more worryingly, who might end up caught in the crossfire.

"Mm," Harry acknowledged ambiguously, but the moment Nott turned to leave, he reached out to grip Malfoy's wrist, pausing him. "You're not still seeing Hermione, are you?" he asked. "Tell me you're actually keeping your distance, Malfoy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I promised, didn't I?" he asked, jerking his hand from Harry's hold and making a face. "What's your gut tell you, Potter?" he taunted.

Harry felt himself frown. "Tells me you're lying," he retorted.

Malfoy let out a scoff of a laugh. "Well, the thing's fucked, anyway," he said bluntly, turning to follow Nott out the doors.

Harry frowned, dissatisfied, but was distracted by the buzzing of his phone. He paused, shaking himself of the encounter, and then looked down to catch Ron's name on his screen.

 _ **rosmerta's tonight? sry I was a dick**_

Harry managed half a laugh. _**Only dick-ish**_ , he typed back. _**Dick adjacent, really.**_

 _ **lol. tx. we should probably talk**_

 _ **Yeah, maybe,**_ Harry said back. _**I'll buy the first round?**_

 _ **sounds good**_ , Ron replied. _**see you tonight**_

* * *

"Fuck, talk about a crisis," Theo commented, getting on his bike. "Can you imagine? He thinks _Daphne_ did it?"

"He clearly doesn't," Draco reminded him, picking up his helmet. "He's just temporarily losing his shit, that's all."

"Yeah, _that's all,_ " Theo agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Which makes him so incredibly helpful to us, obviously."

Draco shrugged. "He's not unhelpful," he offered blandly. "Though I'm not sure what to make of how convinced he is that it's Tom behind Astoria's death."

Theo tossed him an impatient sidelong glance. "Do you really think that's so far outside the realm of possibility?" he scoffed, looking mercilessly unamused. "Do you remember, Draco, that there used to be a time when the idea of buying and selling guns wasn't normal? Or that there was a time when we weren't all fucking _watched_?"

"Sure," Draco allowed, "but do you honestly think Tom would fuck with me just to fuck with me?" He grimaced. "Even for Riddle, that sounds - "

"Psychotic? Egomaniacal? Tyrannical?" Theo asked drily. At Draco's silence, he shook his head. "All words that have _never_ been used to describe Tom Riddle, I'm sure."

"I'm just saying that it seems particularly difficult to believe Tom would have Astoria killed just to then look me in the eye and deny it," Draco said. "What would be the purpose of the exercise, exactly?"

Theo stared at him for a moment; and then - alarmingly - he _laughed_.

"Draco," Theo managed eventually, the mirth fading from his features. "Why does Tom like you?"

"Personally, I think he admires my certain undeniable pizzazz," Draco quipped easily, and Theo shook his head, reaching out to grip his arm.

"He likes you because you follow orders," Theo reminded him flatly. "He fucking likes you because you're under his thumb. He tolerates me," he added, "but he _trusts_ you to do what you're told. And what do you think happens when he feels that trust is slipping?"

Draco paused, grimacing. "Careful, Theo," he warned, and Theo's mouth tightened.

"What kind of life is this, Draco?" he growled, somewhere between frustration and fury. "What kind of world do we live in where I can't say something to my fucking best friend without one of us worrying we might cross a line?" He put his helmet on furiously. "I'm tired of watching my step, of watching my tongue _-_ "

 _Tell him to bite his tongue,_ Draco heard Darian say, and sighed.

"Look," Draco said. "You're upset about your dad, I know - "

"This isn't about my fucking dad," Theo countered angrily, though Draco caught a tiny degree of stiffening in his shoulders that suggested otherwise. "I'm not _grieving,_ okay, I just want you to fucking - " he paused, gritting his teeth. "I don't know - _wake up,_ Draco - "

"I'm not deluded," Draco snapped firmly. "I know Tom's got a shady agenda, but look at the facts, Theo - it wasn't Tom, it wasn't any other Death Eater, and it's only Potter's _intuition_ that says it wasn't Greyback, so - "

"The fact that I am agreeing with _Potter_ on this is a little fucking upsetting, Draco," Theo retorted. "You know as well as I do that Tom's capable of just about anything, and - "

They paused as Potter came out of the restaurant, catching them mid-argument; Draco forced a noncommittal smirk and the other man nodded once, heading for his car with a purposeful deliberation.

"Look," Draco murmured, turning to Theo as Potter pulled out of the lot. "All I'm saying is Tom's got a lot of power, and a _lot_ of loyalty, and there's no use trying to fuck with him without any sort of proof." He waited for Theo to react, and then sighed at the other man's silence. "Just - try to keep your shit together, okay? You don't need to mouth off to him every chance you get," he warned. "It's not doing you any favors in the long run, Theo - "

"Eases my conscience," Theo muttered. "Better than bending over and taking it."

Draco curled a hand around his mouth, sighing into his palm. "If it really was Tom, our problems are just beginning," he reminded Theo, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought. "Let's just rule out all the other possibilities before we fuck ourselves into some kind of shitty mutiny, alright?"

"Fine," Theo muttered. He glanced over at Draco, considering him, before letting out a slow exhale, settling back into normalcy.

"By the way," Theo remarked slowly. "Fleur's roommate is some dude named Cedric, and I think he wants to fuck me."

"We all do," Draco assured him, patting his shoulder. "We all do."

* * *

"Ah, she lives," Seamus said, smiling as Hermione came in to take a seat beside Dean and Padma. "Long day?"

"Sort of," Hermione sighed, resting her chin on her palm and grinning weakly as Dean threw an arm around her. "About to be a long night, too, I'm sure."

"Oh, I'm sure," Seamus agreed, wiping down the bar. "These two look especially mischievous," he added, gesturing to Padma and Dean.

"Never," Padma retorted, smacking her palm down on the bar. "But now that you mention it, I could use a drink, Sea."

"Not waiting for your boyfriend, I see," Dean commented, and Padma made a face.

"Ron's not my boyfriend," she insisted. "He's my vagina consult."

"Aw, you like him," Seamus teased, sliding a vodka tonic across the bar to her. "Look at you, Patil, you're blushing."

"I am _not_ blushing," she said firmly. "Ron and I are just - "

"Padma," Ron called as he entered the bar, and she promptly lit up.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, standing to join him before giving him a light smack across the shoulder. "I was waiting for you, you buffoon."

"Oh my god, she _loves_ him," Dean said fondly, clutching his chest as Seamus stifled a laugh.

"Hey Ron," Hermione said, smiling at him. "Is Harry with you?"

"He's coming," Ron assured her, throwing an arm around Padma. "Five minutes, I'd guess."

"Not that we're not happy to see you too, Weasley," Seamus said, winking at him. "What'll you have?"

"A beer, good sir," Ron said, saluting him and then settling himself on Dean's other side with Padma. "How's it going with you all in the surgical community?"

"Not bad," Dean said. "Didn't get to touch anything bloody today, sadly."

"Very sad," Padma agreed, pouting. "Practically a waste of a day, frankly."

"Ah, I hate it when people are healthy," Seamus joked, handing Ron a bottle. "Bums me out entirely."

"How are things in this fine establishment?" Dean asked him. "Lest we forget the real heroes," he teased, and Seamus laughed.

"Not bad," he said. "Actually, it was a pretty good day," he added, pausing thoughtfully. "Rosmerta's pretty pleased about Thicknesse, so - "

"Ugh, _no,_ " Ron interrupted. "I cannot hear another thing about him, I swear to _god -_ "

"Who's that?" Hermione asked, sipping her drink. "Thicknesse?"

"He just got appointed interim county judge," Seamus explained. "He's pro small business, so Rosmerta likes him. He helped her out a few years ago when there was a developer looking to buy this spot."

"Huh," Hermione said. "And what's your opposition?" she asked Ron, laughing as he made a face of utter annoyance.

"Eh, my dad and brother can't stand him," he explained, shrugging. "They say he's in the Death Eaters' pockets or some shit, I don't know - "

"Hey," Harry cut in breathlessly, joining them at the bar. He leaned over, kissing Hermione's cheek as she turned towards him in surprise. "Sorry I'm late - "

"Ah, _now_ it's a party," Dean declared, raising his glass.

"Hey," Hermione said, squeezing his arm affectionately. "Where've you been, Officer?" she joked as he took a seat beside her.

"Busy, I guess," he said, flashing her a warm smile before nodding to Seamus in greeting, accepting the drink that was passed his way. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," she said, nodding. "Feels good to be back."

"Good," Harry said, taking a sip of his beer and then pausing, a thought burying itself in his brow. "You know," he ventured carefully, "I was thinking of coming by last night to see if you needed anything."

Hermione felt her smile twitch. "You were?"

"I didn't, of course," Harry clarified, smiling. "I thought you might have been busy."

Hermione bit her lip, burying an awkward laugh within the contents of her glass as she considered the many welcomed flashes of what, precisely, she'd been _quite_ busy with the night before. "No, of course not," she lied. "Were you?"

Harry's smile flickered momentarily, but then he looked up, catching a motion from Ron.

"Ah, I should say hi to Ron," he said quickly. "Be right back?"

"Sure," Hermione said, suddenly feeling uneasy.

* * *

"Hey," Harry said, sidling up to Ron. "So, listen - "

"Me first," Ron said quickly, pulling him aside. They moved to the back of the bar, shifting just out of earshot of the others. "Look, I sort of overreacted - "

"I should have told you about Daphne," Harry cut in hastily. "If I'd found out something like that, I would have been taken by surprise, too - "

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have accused you like I did," Ron sighed. "I just - there's just a lot of shit with all of us, you know - small town and all that, and it seems like everything's been resurfacing lately for some reason - "

"Believe me, I know," Harry assured him. "But I just - "

He paused abruptly, watching two heavily muscled men walk through the door to enter the bar. They moved with the kind of deliberation that came from unfamiliarity, and they immediately stood out; a pair of things that didn't belong. Harry frowned, finding something vaguely familiar about the two men as they made a quick motion across the bar to Seamus for drinks.

"The thing is," Ron continued, oblivious to Harry's silence. "I just would want to _know_ , you know, if you were in on anything with the Death Eater guys - and I just want you to feel like you can come to me, I guess, if there's something going on that - "

"Ron," Harry interrupted, gesturing towards the men that had located themselves in the corner. "Do you know them?"

Ron turned, glancing at them and shrugging his disinterest. "No," he said, bringing the bottle to his lips. "But anyway, I'm not saying you have to _hate_ Malfoy, I'm just saying that you should be careful - "

One man turned, his face catching the dim light as his eyes seemed to fix pointedly on Harry across the room. He paused, nodding once, and then turned back to his companion.

"Oh shit," Harry said under his breath, suddenly recognizing the reddish-brown ponytail and the particular set of features on the man's silhouette. "Shit, shit, _shit -_ "

"What is it?" Ron asked, frowning.

Harry waved a hand. "Nothing," he said quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "At least, nothing yet," he muttered, feeling his breath quicken.

* * *

"Alright, so your shit's all here," Viktor said gruffly, taking them to three large black cases that were stored in the corner of the Gringotts warehouse. "I assume you can take it from here."

"Safe assumption," Theo replied. "Though you _do_ know what they say about assumptions, don't you, Viktor?"

"For fuck's sake, don't antagonize him," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. "What'd you do to him, anyway?" he asked, watching Viktor shoot Theo another venomous glare.

"Held him at gunpoint," Theo supplied, shrugging. "He was being an epic cockblock."

"Ah," Draco commented. "And they say blue balls don't kill, eh?"

"You got all this?" Viktor prompted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've got shit to do, you know."

"By all means," Draco said, waving a hand. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and groaned, reaching for it. "Hold on," he said, glancing down. "It's from - "

He saw Potter's name and frowned. "Christ," he muttered, opening the message. "It's like he can't get enough of me."

"Ah, Potter again?" Theo asked, leaning to look at the screen over Draco's shoulder. "You'd think he'd just - "

"Shut up," Draco cut in instantly, his eyes widening. "Am I seeing this correctly?"

 _ **Scabior and Smith are at Rosmerta's.**_

"Fuck," Theo exhaled, pulling at his mouth. "Turf war?"

Draco scowled. "Turf war," he agreed, forcing a swallow.

* * *

"Everything okay?" Hermione asked, watching Harry peer anxiously over his shoulder for the third time since rejoining her at the bar. "You look sort of - I don't know." She bit her lip. "Twitchy, I think."

"Yeah, no - I'm fine," Harry said, frowning. He took an absent sip of his beer and then shook his head, seeming to think better of it as he set it down on the bar, the bottle still at least half full. "Maybe you should go," he said, clearing his throat uneasily.

Hermione frowned. "Why?" she asked, watching him look down at his phone again. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said absentmindedly. "I mean, yeah, it's - everything's fine. For now." He reached up, massaging the bridge of his nose. "It's fine, but I just - " he glanced around, catching the eye of someone at the front of the bar. "I just don't know if it's such a good idea to be here."

"Okay," Hermione said slowly, and then felt her phone buzz. "Hold on - "

 _ **Where are you?**_

Draco.

 _ **Rosmerta's**_ , Hermione said back, and then pursed her lips, thinking. _**I was going to head home, so if you**_

She was cut off as another message came in from him.

 _ **You need to get out of there. Now.**_

She frowned, glancing up at Harry. He was fidgeting, his green eyes darting repeatedly to the door.

 _ **What's going on? Harry's here**_

But before she could finish typing, she looked up to see him walk through the door, his pale head glinting in the dim light of the bar. His gaze skipped around the scant faces in the room before landing on hers, flashing her a tentative half-smile - seemingly to comfort her, though it did no such thing, all things considered - before he was cut off mid-stride, one of the men at the front of the bar suddenly stepping in front of him.

"Malfoy," the man said, his voice low and taunting. "About time you showed up."

"How's your shoulder?" the other man asked, smirking. "Hope it doesn't" - he paused, glancing laughingly at the first man - " _sting._ "

Hermione watched Draco's posture twitch momentarily, his stance shifting as he became aware of his scarred shoulder. She suddenly flashed back to the bullet she'd dug from it - _trust me, you don't want to know_ \- and frowned, an ominous feeling quaking in the base of her abdomen at the thought.

"Harry," she whispered, reaching for him. "Who's that?"

But Harry was no longer at her side.

* * *

"Watch it, Scabior," Draco warned in a low voice, watching Potter slowly make his way towards them. "This isn't a fight you want to pick right now."

Scabior laughed, nudging Smith beside him. "Hear that, Zac?" he mused. "Malfoy Junior seems to think he knows about what fights we want to pick."

"Relax, junior Malfoy," Smith soothed patronizingly, smirking. "Ah, and junior Nott, too," he remarked, shifting his attention to Theo. "Though that distinction is really no longer necessary, is it?"

Draco felt Theo tense beside him and took a step forward, bringing himself face to face with Scabior. "What do you want?" he hissed, glaring between the two men. "I hardly think it was wise to set foot back in Diagon after the shit your boss pulled."

Scabior scoffed loudly. "You know, it's funny," he commented silkily. "This threat would be a little more convincingly delivered by someone a little higher up, don't you think?"

"There doesn't need to be a fight right now," Draco said decisively. His attention flicked helplessly to Hermione's wide stare before refocusing, leaving him to cling to whatever he possessed of a cooler head. "Not here."

"Who says we're looking for a fight?" Smith prompted, holding up his beer. "We're simply having a drink."

"We figure we might as well make ourselves at home," Scabior added. "Considering Smith's got business in this town - "

"By business, you mean a fucking _court date_ ," Theo growled, stepping forward to bring himself on even footing with Draco. "Which I hardly think merits making yourself comfortable."

"Ah, but things have been going so smoothly for us here," Smith reminded him. "I mean, considering the judge who had it in for me had the very thoughtful courtesy to _die_ , of course - "

"Making her much more polite than you two," Scabior lamented falsely, his lip curling in distaste. "Far more useful, too, all things considered," he sniffed. "You could have at least brought us a gift."

"You know, we've really only had one major mishap here, haven't we?" Smith said, tutting facetiously as he stared at Theo. "Pity, really," he murmured. "Though the way I hear it, it's no great loss. Dying anyway, wasn't he?" he asked, making a face. "Cigarettes kill, Nott Junior," he commented, laughing. "Though not all by themselves."

"Besides, it's nothing we can't remedy," Scabior added, and an incoherent sound left Theo's throat as he took a challenging step forward.

"Stop," Draco hissed at him, thrusting an arm out. "There are cops in this bar," he informed the other two, his gaze slipping momentarily to where Potter stood behind them; the dark-haired man's fingers twitched apprehensively in a way that indicated - _frustratingly,_ in Draco's view - that he didn't have his gun. "Wouldn't want to get in trouble with the law while you've got criminal cases pending, would you, Smith?"

"Funny," Smith remarked, his blue eyes flashing as he turned menacingly to Theo. "That's been true for a while - and yet I've managed to get away with _so much,_ haven't I?"

Draco felt a brush of fury twitch its way up his spine. "Careful, Smith," he snarled, but it was too late.

Theo had already thrown the first punch.

* * *

The first hit centered itself square against Smith's jaw, the ring on Theo's hand cracking bone the instant it landed. There was a moment when time stopped - when fear should have settled into his bones, into his veins, should have chilled him in a moment of panic and regret, when _fuck fuck fuck_ should have materialized into something that could have pinned his fists to his sides - and Theo watched the blond hair drift into Smith's eyes, the bigger man stumbling backwards and colliding with a pool table. He watched Smith grin maniacally, watched him regain his footing and laugh, slamming the beer bottle against the table and beckoning for more - _come on, Nott, you miss your daddy? -_ and then Theo felt himself wind up again without hesitation, exhaling as his mind went blissfully blank and the raucous sounds in the bar gradually diminished to nothing but the sound of the blood in his ears.

* * *

"Chief, you need to get to get an officer down here," Harry shouted into his phone as Scabior took advantage of Nott's instigation to launch a fist at Malfoy's cheek, the other man's grey eyes flashing with fury as he ducked the shot and aimed an impressively accurate blow at Scabior's windpipe. "I don't have my gun, but they might be armed, I don't know - " he paused, catching the glint from the back of Malfoy's waistband as he reached up to jam the heel of his hand directly into Scabior's septum. "Fuck, Malfoy's definitely armed - hold on - "

He dropped the phone on the ground, shoving a few bystanders out of the way. "Deputy Police Chief Potter, _get the fuck out,_ " he said, flashing his badge and shoving them towards the back door. "Ron," he yelled. "Get them _out -_ "

"Got it," Ron called back, and Harry ran towards Malfoy, watching him first take a blow to the stomach and then counter with an elbow directly to Scabior's spine, hitting the bigger man in the back of the neck and bending him over to shove his head into the pool table.

"Fuck," Malfoy spat, taking hold of Scabior's hair to slam his head against the table's edge, punctuating each word with an unforgiving impact. "I - fucking - _told_ \- you _-_ "

"Malfoy," Harry shouted warningly. "You'll fucking _kill him_ \- "

Something glinted momentarily in Malfoy's eye at that and he glanced up, panting, his attention shifting to something over Harry's shoulder.

"Fine," Malfoy said, instantly releasing Scabior and taking three strides back, holding his hands up. "Fine. Theo," he said hoarsely, trying to reach for Nott's shoulder as the other Death Eater struck Smith's chin with a mechanically calculated uppercut, his knuckles already bloodied and bruised. "Theo, come on - stop - "

"Malfoy, watch out!" Harry yelled as Scabior staggered forward from the pool table, grabbing Malfoy by the collar and throwing a punch that skidded across his face, breaking Malfoy's nose in one swift motion.

"Fucking _fuck_ ," Malfoy roared, blood dripping into his mouth as he took advantage of an impossibly quick shot to Scabior's jaw, forcing the other man back against the pool table. "You motherfucking piece of shit," he said, spitting once and then slamming a fist into Scabior's face against the table. "You _motherfucking_ piece of _shit -_ "

"Malfoy," Harry said again, grabbing his arms from behind. "Malfoy, for fuck's sake, come on - "

"Fine, I'm fine," Malfoy muttered, sagging slightly against his chest as Harry pulled him away. "I'm - I'm _fine_ , Potter, let go of me - "

Harry pulled the glock from Malfoy's waistband, aiming it at Scabior as the other man struggled to sit up from the pool table. "Diagon PD," Harry forced out, one arm still slung around Malfoy's chest as Scabior slowly put his hands in the air, a manic smile spreading across his bloodied face. "Stay where you are - "

"Theo," Malfoy said hauntingly, and at the sound of his voice Harry turned his head to look. "Theo, fuck, _stop -_ "

"Shit," Harry murmured, as Nott aimed another brutally ruthless kick at the ribs of the limply stirring body of Zacharias Smith.

* * *

 _Come on, Nott, you miss your daddy?_

 _Fuck you, don't you fucking talk about my father -_

"Theo - Theo, _stop -_ "

 _I can't, I can't, he's dead, Draco, he's dead -_

Pain flared at his knuckles, in his chest, in his stomach. His muscles ached and sweat dripped into his eyes but he hit again, hit harder, _shut up, shut up, shut up -_

Ringing in his ears, blood drumming against his skull, _you miss your daddy?_

 _Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU -_

"Fight back," Theo gasped, dropping to straddle Smith's waist on the ground and aiming a glancing blow across his cheek, watching Smith's head fall back against the ground, unmoving. " _Fight back_ , you motherfucker - "

He heard the click of a pistol and promptly froze, his heart thudding in his chest.

"That's enough, Theodore," he heard Tom say, and for once in his life, Theo obeyed.

 _My father, Tom,_ he wanted to say, wanted to laugh. _That's my father -_

But he looked down instead; looked at the blood on his hands and his clothes and he clenched his fists and he _saw_ , and he _knew_ \- really _knew,_ for the _first time_ \- that there was only one Theodore Nott remaining; and that, legacy or not, he'd never much cared for the burden of the name.

 _That's enough, Theodore -_

 _You hate me, Theodore, for some reason that I don't fucking understand!_

 _I don't hate you, I don't hate you, I don't fucking hate you -_

And then it took all the remaining force Theo retained to keep from falling forward on his hands and knees, suddenly desperate to sob against the shallow motion of Smith's chest.

* * *

Draco struggled to breathe, wriggling in Potter's hold as he reached for Theo.

"Let go of me," he muttered, forcing sound from his throat as he watched the blank look on Theo's face; the robotic automation of his motions. "Potter, let go, I'm fine - "

He knew Hermione was watching; he knew she was there across the room, her brown eyes widening as she finally saw him for what he really was - but this was _Theo,_ this was _Theo_ nearly beating a man to death, this was his _best friend,_ his _brother,_ and this was everything compounding percussively to beat itself against his chest; and it was _I can't breathe,_ and then it was _Potter, fucking christ, I need you to fucking let go -_

And then it was Draco holding his stuttered breath as Tom walked into the bar, Slughorn stumbling in at his heels - and then it was Tom taking one sweeping look around the room before pulling his glock from his waistband, solemnly disengaging the safety - and then it was Tom lowering his gun, aiming it at Theo's forehead - _and then it was_ -

"No," Draco gasped, his entire body suddenly going still.

"That's enough, Theodore," Tom said flatly, and then looked up, his blue eyes floating momentarily to where Hermione had been standing at the back of the bar before returning to Theo's face. "I apologize for the violence," he said evenly, not looking up.

"Potter," Draco half-whimpered, and behind him, Potter's chest constricted.

"Don't move," Potter muttered in his ear. "Don't do anything." He swallowed. "Not yet."

And then it was Draco holding his breath.

* * *

Hermione blinked.

Then time restarted.

"Dr Granger," Tom called to her, looking up this time to meet her eye. "Hermione."

Harry's head shifted at the mention of her name, locating her in the room and then frowning as he kept his gun aimed at the man on the pool table, one arm still holding Draco back.

"Hermione," Tom said carefully, "I think it would be best if you left."

Draco looked up slowly, his grey eyes defeatedly blank as they met hers. She didn't know why she had stayed; Ron had been trying to get her to move, to _leave,_ and Seamus had been pulling her out the door but she had stopped, she had _stayed,_ she had watched Draco take a blow and she had watched him make another man bleed; she had processed for once that he hadn't lied, that when he said danger it was _not a joke,_ that it was _not a lie,_ that he was _not normal -_

 _Go,_ he mouthed, pleading numbly with her from afar as he bled onto Harry's arm. _Please. Go._

Hermione felt her eyes widen and then she turned, sprinting out of the bar without looking back.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _dedicated to DrSallySparrow, my colonial overlord, who always entertains my ramblings._


	19. From High Places

_**a/n:**_ _hello children time for death_

* * *

 **Chapter 19: From High Places**

Draco watched her go and felt her absence like a bereavement, like a blow to his chest, the vacancy of where she'd been in the room swelling with an aura of warning; of a retreat he feared was more than temporary, the result of things he knew could never be unseen.

Though he had other things to worry about at the moment.

Once Hermione had gone, the bar had fallen deathly quiet; _literally_ deathly quiet, Draco thought with a pang, as the sound of breathing itself now seemed to be in short supply. Draco took stock of the remaining occupants and found himself at a loss, numbly counting bodies where he stood to glance briefly from Scabior at the pool table to Smith and Theo on the floor, and then to where Tom and Slughorn hovered near the door before registering Potter's movement behind him, supporting his slowly collapsing weight.

For a moment, Draco was relieved at the pressure against his back, finding an unexpected solace in it; in the next, however, he suffered a jolt of punishing certainty - of _knowing better,_ and seeing what came next. Whatever Tom had planned, he wouldn't want witnesses, and Draco realized with a plummeting sense of loss precisely who would be the next to leave.

"Officer Potter," Tom ventured slowly, his gaze shifting to him over Draco's shoulder, "I understand my Death Eaters and I owe you quite a debt." He paused, regarding him from where he still held the gun level with Theo's temple. "You've been more than helpful over recent weeks, haven't you?"

Draco felt Potter tentatively clear his throat. "Just doing my job, sir."

Part of Draco wanted to roll his eyes at Potter's limitless vault of earnestness.

"Mm, yes," Tom agreed, a slightly mocking smile pulling at his lips. "I must say, I'm very grateful you thought to call Horace when you did," he continued slowly, "as otherwise, I'm afraid we might have been too late." Tom glanced down at Theo, pursing his lips. "If only the people under my purview were quite as reliable with communication as you are, Officer," he added to Potter, and Draco fought a creeping sense of dread that lodged itself in the contours of his spine, manifesting in a shudder.

Theo, however, did not look up, and Tom turned his head slightly, shifting his attention to Slughorn. "Horace," he said neutrally. "Would you mind checking on Mr Smith, please?"

Slughorn hastily waddled forward but paused, hesitating as he looked at Theo.

"Ah, Theodore," Tom murmured. "I presume you can be trusted not to continue with your ill-advised assault?" Theo nodded numbly, and Tom abruptly lowered his gun. "Move, then," Tom instructed briskly, and Theo hastily clambered to his feet, swaying slightly. Draco pulled out of Potter's reach to take Theo's arm, forcing him upright.

"I've got you," he said under his breath, and Theo nodded vacantly, his eyes still on Smith.

Slughorn knelt slowly, pressing two fingers to Smith's pulse. "Alive," he said, looking relieved. "Shallow, but it's there."

Tom forced an icy smile, curiously ambivalent. "Well, then, Officer Potter," he said, turning back to Harry. "I think we can take it from here. If you would, please," he proposed, gesturing to Draco. "I believe that's Mr Malfoy's gun you're holding, is it not?"

Draco turned his head to watch Potter's brow furrow. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I only imagine Draco would appreciate its recovery. Besides, I highly doubt Smith will be pressing charges," Tom deduced briskly, glancing at Scabior. "Will he?"

Scabior spat once onto the floor, flashing him a bloody grin. "Nah," he said, wiping gracelessly across his mouth.

For a moment, Potter was stunned into silence. "You're joking," he managed flatly, staring at Tom. "You don't actually think I would - "

"Horace," Tom cut in silkily, turning to Slughorn. "Forgive me - is there perhaps some sort of protocol detail I'm missing?"

Hearing him, Draco half wanted to shake his head in disbelief. It was one thing for Tom to pull rank on Slughorn at the Manor; that was commonplace, if not thoroughly expected. _Here_ , though, in what was clearly a volatile crime scene -

Slughorn rose to his feet, not meeting Potter's eye. "Stand down, Deputy," he commanded uneasily. "You're dismissed."

At that, Draco bitterly wanted to laugh.

"I - Chief, you can't possibly be serious," Potter protested, his eyes darting between Slughorn and Tom. "You're outnumbered here, and outgunned - "

"Officer Potter, as I'm sure you can see, what remains of this mess is little more than a private matter between my Death Eaters and myself," Tom said frankly, using a voice that sounded suspiciously like a warning. "As I've said, there will be no charges filed with regard to this unfortunate incident, so your presence is hardly necessary - and _surely_ you understand the importance of hierarchy, Officer. Part of your occupational obligation, isn't it?" Tom prompted. "Yielding to your superiors as a matter of . . . safety?"

 _It's not a warning_ , Draco amended internally, holding his breath. _It's a threat._

"Do you really consider this to be just an 'unfortunate incident'?" Potter echoed, the spectrum of his earnestness now grazing the edge of rage. "With all due respect, this isn't some fistfight at the playground," he snapped. "This was a fucking brutal episode of violence - "

"Which has now been contained," Tom supplied coolly, raising the hand that still held his gun. For a moment, Draco's eyes widened, wondering if he intended to aim it at Potter; instead, Tom simply used it to gesture listlessly between him and Draco, arching a brow. "Please return Mr Malfoy's pistol, Officer Potter," he said again, "and I assure you that we can all leave here satisfied that we've done our respective jobs."

Potter frowned, opening his mouth again to argue, but Slughorn promptly shook his head, taking a step forward. "Harry, please," he warned quietly, his mouth tightening. "Give the gun to Malfoy."

Draco froze, dreading Potter's reaction.

There was a moment, a beat of hesitation, when Draco was certain Potter would refuse, and he wondered in the span of a breath if he might even privately cheer him for doing it - but nearly as quickly, Potter's expression devolved to a grimace, collapsing like a broken toy. He flipped the Glock around his finger and handed it to Draco, taking a step back to glance again at Slughorn as Draco raised the gun, aiming it at Scabior in Potter's stead.

"Go," Slughorn said at once, his face belabored with sincerity. "Please go, Harry."

At that, a bitter disappointment materialized within the flashing green of Potter's hardened gaze, and Draco wondered for a moment if Slughorn could see as clearly as he could the respect that had dwindled from his deputy. Potter's mouth twitched with concern and he looked sharply from Theo, whose glazed expression was hollowed out and haunted, to Draco, who had blood slowly seeping into the cracks in his lip, seeming incomprehensibly tormented by the demons before him.

 _Things that could never be unseen,_ Draco thought again, and wondered once more how much had changed that night.

Potter seemed to be waiting for something, so Draco gave him a nearly imperceptible shake of his head; the other man blinked slowly, seeming to have grasped the message - _there's nothing you can do here -_ and nodded once before turning, looking newly burdened as he walked out the bar's back door.

"Draco," Tom said sharply once he'd gone, and Draco shifted his attention with a slow, dull motion. "Will you please check Mr Scabior for weapons?"

Draco forced a nod, steadying Theo before walking over to Scabior. The other man was still smiling, blood trickling down his chin, and Draco forced himself not to look at his face as he gingerly pulled a handgun from the holster at Scabior's side, taking the few steps to hand it back to Tom.

"The last time my Death Eaters had a run in with you, Scabior, your employer left a message with one of my associates," Tom commented, eyeing Scabior with displeasure as he tucked his own Glock away, accepting the gun from Draco. "I realize now that I have made a somewhat crucial oversight in not returning the favor." He pulled the magazine from Scabior's gun, glancing over it before reloading with a practiced efficiency, locking a bullet in the chamber. "I'd hate to think that Fenrir has been waiting all this time," he lamented, tutting softly.

Scabior, not unwisely, said nothing, his eyes locked on Tom's hands. Tom raised Scabior's gun, aiming for a moment at Scabior himself and then flashing him a brilliant smile before lowering the barrell, his head cocked with eerily steadfast detachment as he adjusted his mark to where Smith still lay on the ground.

"Would you do me a favor, Scabior," Tom began slowly, "and tell Fenrir from me - "

He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, burying the bullets in Smith's head. Slughorn's eyes went wide and Draco unconsciously leapt back, ears ringing from the shots; beside him, Draco felt Theo's breath catch, his chest rising and falling unevenly in a mix of panic and penance as Scabior himself looked shaken, his face pale beneath the drying blood.

" - well," Tom amended, murmuring thoughtfully to himself. "I suppose that speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

He tossed the pistol onto Smith's unmoving chest and turned with an impossibly peerless apathy, not even sparing a second glance as Smith's blood began to seep into the bar's grimy floorboards.

"Horace," Tom said thoughtfully, and Slughorn, who stood frozen, did not look up. "Perhaps you might escort Mr Scabior back to his vehicle? It's quite late," he commented blithely, as though they had collectively been at a dinner party that had run overlong. "He should be getting back to Knockturn, I think."

"Tom," Slughorn croaked. "He - he needs a hospital - "

"They have one of those in Knockturn, I hear," Tom supplied flippantly, shrugging.

"Tom," Slughorn pleaded again, more adamantly this time. "This is no small matter, Tom - this is - " he paused, wringing his hands in an almost comical depiction of horror, and Draco nearly laughed, wanting desperately to shout _what the fuck did you expect?_ and just barely managing to press his lips together in time to suppress its escape. "You can't expect me to just let you _-_ " Slughorn stammered. "To just - "

"What I expect, Horace, is for you to act within the confines of our agreement," Tom interrupted flatly, with a clear indication of finality. "And as for you two," he continued, turning to Theo and Draco. "Have Avery and Rowle take care of the - " he paused, his mouth curling up distastefully. "Mess."

Draco managed a nod, and Tom smiled briefly. "Do be sure to tell Rosmerta to bill me for the cleaning costs," he added as an afterthought. "Seems unfair that she should be held responsible for the vermin, don't you think?"

That time, Draco couldn't quite stomach the agreement; Tom shrugged, unfazed. He turned to walk out the front door and then came to an abrupt stop just before passing through it, taking a few steps back to bring himself even with Theo's ear.

"This is not the appropriate setting for a private conversation," he murmured, just loudly enough for Draco to overhear. "All is not forgiven, as I'm sure you can understand - but it's time you learned that I am not your enemy, Theodore."

Theo didn't move; Tom looked up, satisfied, and locked eyes with Draco.

"We'll talk soon," he said briskly, and then departed with a series of quick, unburdened strides, disappearing through the front door.

Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as soon as Tom left, the weight of it rattling around in his lungs throughout the next hour or so. He watched people come and go through that door and felt the impact of each one, from Slughorn escorting Scabior out to Avery and Rowle arriving, grim-faced, seeing Smith's body on the floor like some kind of divining tool; like a fucked up magic eight ball that had come up unfavorably.

 _It is decidedly so,_ Draco thought absurdly, swallowing his countless reservations.

Avery's gaze scraped over Draco's face and then settled on where Theo leaned against the wall, his blank expression hosting something that might have equally been shame or pain or terror.

"Get cleaned up," Avery advised, tightening his hand around Draco's shoulder. "Both of you."

Draco forced a nod, relying on muscle memory to take him through the door and finding once he'd left the tragedy behind him that despite the weariness that sank into his bones, despite the effort of supporting Theo's weight, it had only been hours - not days, weeks, years. _Lifetimes_.

It had only been hours, and yet he could feel time striking at his core as though he'd aged to the depths and back, submerged in a river of souls to find what had existed of himself long extinguished.

It seemed like a miracle got him to Theo's apartment, or else something like it; they arrived in a somber procession through the halls and into the living room, neither bothering to turn on the light. Theo made his way to the kitchen, returning with an ice pack and a frozen bag of vegetables; he tossed the bag to Draco for his nose and held the ice to the knuckles of his right hand, wincing at the impact.

Ten minutes passed in silence before they spoke.

"It's the worst thing, I think," Theo said hoarsely, and Draco turned, startled by the sound of his voice. "Actually seeing what you're capable of. It's one thing to imagine," he explained slowly, "to extrapolate, or guess, but to _see_ it - to watch yourself lose control, to see something go lifeless in your hands, it's fucking - " he choked on the words, sinking back against the couch. "It's the fucking _worst thing_ , Draco."

Draco wondered if there had ever been a language to express the countless ways he was sorry, even if he knew it hadn't technically been his fault. Somehow he felt if he traced it back, kept going further and further through the rearview of his life, remorse would be born from something; like maybe there'd been a day when they were younger when Theo hadn't wanted this, and Draco had pushed him, and now he was responsible.

He wished, in a way, for responsibility; for blame. He thought, strangely, that if he could take that burden from Theo it would be worth it - and so he cast around in his memory, trying and flailing and ultimately failing, lost in a sea of what had always felt inevitable for as long as they'd both been who they were.

"I guess it's like trying to unsee something," Draco murmured in the absence of something better; in the sharing of their suffering, and _the result of things that could never be unseen_. "Like trying to forget a face, or a feeling - "

"Like trying to undigest shit," Theo supplied flatly, and at the consummately unironic look on his face Draco found he had shocked himself into laughter, clutching at his aching ribs as he and Theo winced their way through a vacant, reverberating hysteria, dissolving slowly to what shook their throat like sobs and then gave way, again, to silence.

To a silence that was filled with _life_ , however regretful; however cursed with error it was, a thoroughly different silence than before.

"What will happen to me?" Theo eventually rasped, slowly uncurling his bruised fingers to stare at the shapes of his knuckles, defining himself in the cracks. "Is it this life that destroys us, Draco, or were we fucked from the start?"

"Both, I think," Draco said honestly. "I think this life sets us up for a fall, but we were always going to do it to ourselves. We told ourselves that if we're going to fall - " he managed a small shrug. "We have to fall from high places. We have to fail fucking magnificently." He pulled the bag of frozen vegetables from his face, meeting Theo's eye. "And we do."

Theo wearily scrubbed at his brow, dragging his hand down to scrape against the stubble over his cheeks.

"Do we think it's admirable or something?" Theo asked him. "Do we delude ourselves into thinking we are better, or stronger, or fucking - I don't know, _bigger,_ somehow, just because we throw ourselves off a cliff?"

It seemed a shame to admit out loud.

"If not this cliff," Draco said slowly, letting the condensation from the bag drip down his wrist, "there'd only be another." He slumped down into the cushions, letting out a sigh. "He was a killer, you know," Draco said, more to the room than to Theo. "Smith," he clarified. "Even if he didn't strap that bomb to Tom's bike, he's a killer, and he's part of what killed your dad, and he'd have taken a lot more lives if he'd been allowed to."

Theo shifted slightly, turning his head. "An eye for an eye, though, Draco?" he prompted morosely. "Fucking primitive."

Draco shook his head. "I'm just saying we can't listen when the world tells us we're villains, that's all."

Theo chewed his lip, flexing his fingers again.

"What if," Theo ventured slowly, eyeing his hand, "I'm the one who says I'm a villain?"

Draco reached out, gripping his shoulder. "Then I'd say you don't know you like I do," he said quietly, and Theo's mouth curled up in a muted expression of gratitude, both of them finding comfort in the motion.

* * *

 _ **Please tell me you're okay.**_

Hermione stared at the screen, chewing her lip. _**I'm fine, Harry. Is everything alright?**_

 _Is Draco - ? Is he - ?_

 _ **I don't know, Hermione. I really don't.**_

She paused, trying to think of a response as she considered the many questions she knew she couldn't ask. _**But you're fine, Harry? You're not hurt?**_

 _ **No. I'm fine.**_

She let out a breath, shaking her head at the idea of being _okay,_ of having left that night and being _fine._ She almost wanted to laugh - but then again, maybe it had only _seemed_ like the end of the world.

 _ **Okay**_ , she hesitantly started typing, _**I just wanted to**_

She stopped as a text came in from him, and then another.

 _ **Why were you still in the bar, Hermione?**_

 _ **Why the hell didn't you leave?**_

She sighed. _**I don't know**_ , she typed, but she couldn't send it.

She knew better, after all.

She was a smart girl; she knew the mechanics of what had happened, the chemistry of it all. It came down to fight or flight, didn't it? Her fundamental human impulse; _survival._ She was a smart girl, after all. She understood, in simple terms, precisely what had happened to her; that in the moment that Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and probably even Draco wanted her to run, she _couldn't_.

 _ **I didn't leave,**_ she wrote, in a text she knew she would never send, _**because in that moment, I knew I would have fought for him.**_

It was ludicrous, really, that for a moment she'd wanted to run _to_ him; that she'd been frozen to the floorboards of that shitty bar because Draco was _there_ \- because the thought of leaving him had seemed, despite everything, the crazier thing to do. That having watched him, battered and bruised and bleeding, and then proceeding to think for even a second of leaving his side had been an impossibility and yes, _fine_ , she knew better, but despite the guns and the danger she had only been able to see his face -

His _pain_.

If she'd known the first thing about what to do - if she'd had any control of the situation - if she'd been the one with the gun in her hand - would she have let Tom send her away?

She looked up as headlights flashed outside her window, shaking herself of the thought.

 _Not that that would ever happen, of course._

She was a smart girl, after all.

Smart _woman_ , really.

And she wasn't just smart, she was _brilliant_.

And she wasn't just brilliant, she was logical, rational, her head firmly anchored by sensibility; by thought, by experience, by careful consideration of every outcome. By a practiced method of reasoning.

She was a doctor, a scientist. Driven by data, quantifiable measures. By _fact._

She was Hermione Granger, and she was smart.

She was _smart._

She was -

She was standing in the doorway, watching his face come into the light.

She saw the redness of his eyes and the angry bruising that railed beneath them and she felt herself rooted to the spot for the second time that night, every measurable alternative dissolving to nothing as she reached for his hand, pulling him inside.

"Draco," she began, but he cut her off, cupping her face in his palms.

"It was wrong of me to put you in this position," he said quietly. "I was selfish, and I need you to understand that. That the fact that this has gone this far is _my fault_ ," he clarified, "and that you can walk away. _Should_ walk away," he amended, looking beaten down by circumstance.

She sighed. "Draco - "

"But I'm not going to leave," he cut in, and she felt her breath hitch unexpectedly. "This may have been my mistake but I will keep you as safe as I can, because you'll have to _make_ me go. You'll have to look me in the eye and tell me what I already know," he ranted, "which is that I am violent, and a criminal, and prone to terrible fucking choices and that you - _fuck_ , you deserve better, but that if you don't - " he broke off, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers, his hands shaking around her jaw. "If you don't tell me to go, _right now_ ," he rasped, "then I want to stay."

She waited a moment, taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly, leaning back to meet his eye. _Fight or flight_ , she thought again.

Perhaps neither of them cared much for running.

"Did someone die tonight?" she asked, with as much neutrality as she could muster.

Draco openly flinched, but didn't look away. "Yes."

The question was out before she could stop herself. "Did you do it?"

His expression visibly contorted.

"No," he admitted. "Not this time." He swallowed apprehensively, and she waited.

"But?" she prompted.

"But," he agreed, forcing the words out, "on another night, it could have been me."

Hearing him say it, she was sickened; she was repulsed and unsettled and thrown irreparably off balance, but she forced back the bile that had risen in her throat. She'd asked for truth, hadn't she? However unpleasant it tasted.

 _Consequences,_ she reminded herself, and sighed again.

"Draco Malfoy," she said softly, and then reached out, circling her hand around the skull-and-snake emblem on his wrist. She dug her thumb into the skin before letting her fingers slip, the pads of them tracing the letters on his knuckles before bringing them to her lips.

"Who the fuck are you?" she whispered.

He hesitated a moment, looking torn, and then he carefully drew her towards her sofa, sitting her down beside him. He stared into nothing for a moment, thinking, and then his grey eyes slid from a pensive blankness to settle purposefully on hers, gradually finding her from somewhere far away.

"My name is Draco," he said slowly, "because it is family tradition to be named after constellations." He paused, and Hermione waited. "I was born in Diagon to a Death Eater who taught me that nothing is more important than power, and a university professor who taught me that nothing is more important than being free." He glanced at his hands, fidgeting slightly. "It was always a somewhat trying dichotomy," he admitted, smiling weakly.

"Professor," Hermione echoed, confused, and Draco nodded.

"Professor Narcissa Black," he supplied. "She kept her maiden name. You can find her books online - though, frankly, it'll cost you." He shrugged. "University press is a nightmare."

Hermione frowned. "But - your mother, is she - "

"Not around, really," Draco said. "I mean, we see each other," he amended, "and my parents are technically still married - and probably still in love, actually, and I think they see each other from time to time, too - but their lifestyles were never exactly complementary."

Hermione bit her lip. "Imagine that," she commented wryly, and he gave her a look, arching a brow and pointedly sidestepping the parallel.

"You asked me once about the Plato quote," he reminded her, gesturing to his hand. "That's my mother's doing. She teaches literature."

"But you didn't go to college?" Hermione asked curiously, and he shook his head.

"Never felt I needed to," he said, managing, despite his injury, to give her one of his languid shrugs. "I read."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed. "I think there's a bit more to it than that."

"So I hear," Draco permitted airily, smirking, "but I could never imagine a world without the Death Eaters. I've wanted to be one for as long as I can remember," he explained, his expression softening to glance imploringly at her. "Part of it being that I absolutely idolized my father. And he's not wrong, really," he added, "power _is_ important, and he certainly has a way of wielding it when he needs to, but I think I always saw this life as freedom, too. Like I told you," he reminded her, "and like my mother told me. Her version of power was always being free, and I thought being a Death Eater would mean that." He paused, glancing again at his hands. "Freedom to live what I believed."

Hermione grimaced, watching him. "I take it that changed?"

He hesitated. "Maybe it changed," he agreed, shrugging again, "or maybe I was wrong, I don't know." He paused. "It was different before."

"Different how?"

He exhaled slowly, adjusting to accommodate what must have been the soreness around his abdomen as he considered his answer.

"The President before Tom was in charge for a long time," he explained. "Decades, actually. And he was different." He reached up, raking a hand through his hair in thought. "It wasn't about money for Dumbledore. The good of the club, yes, and definitely whatever he thought was good for Diagon as a whole, which was mostly a good thing - protecting the people who lived there, and the businesses - preventing most of the crime that always threatened to come in from Knockturn - " He grimaced. "Some of which you witnessed today."

Hermione nodded quickly, not wanting to discuss it yet. "And then?"

"And then Tom took over, and the club wasn't financially stable," Draco confessed slowly. "Tom's sort of an all-in kind of guy, and he's used to getting his way. Even while Dumbledore was President and Tom was Vice President, he and Lucius - my father," he clarified, and Hermione nodded, "they sort of played their own little sideshow. Obviously Tom had a lot more contacts that I thought," Draco admitted begrudgingly, "and shadier ones, too - but I don't think we would have known that when he took over. Or at least," he shrugged, "we wouldn't have guessed."

Hermione frowned. "But you must have eventually gone along with it," she prompted, and Draco nodded slowly.

"Good of the club," he reminded her. "That's the foundation of it, really. The tattoos and bikes are a perk," he drawled, smirking, "but it's about brotherhood at the end of the day. Tom was elected by my brothers, and it's my job to listen - and," he added somewhat shamefully, "I will admit to turning a blind eye while I was getting more money out of the deal."

He hesitated, visibly biting his tongue, and Hermione reached for his hand. "What is it?"

"Well," Draco continued uneasily, "the other reason is that Tom likes me." He glanced up, eyeing her with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence. "Dumbledore didn't care for me, really - probably because Tom and my father were always off doing things he wouldn't have approved of - but Tom always seemed weirdly supportive. He trusts me," he explained. "He values me, he favors me, and for the most part he listens to me." He paused again. "And at the end of the day, he gave me - "

"Power," Hermione supplied, realizing, and Draco nodded.

"That, and what felt like freedom for a while," he added slowly. "Albeit within what I can now see is a very confined set of lanes."

Hermione nodded her understanding, running her fingers over his knuckles again and then looking up to meet his eye.

"Do you like him?" she asked. "Tom, I mean."

Draco instantly averted his gaze. "I," he began, and stopped. Hermione leaned over at that, shaking her head and taking his chin carefully in her hand, glancing over the bruising.

"Do you like him?" she repeated, staring expectantly at him, and his expression tightened to a grimace.

"Brotherhood, Hermione," he told her, his tone laden with something she didn't think she could fully understand. "The worst crime a Death Eater can commit isn't, I don't know, murder or theft or assault - it's disloyalty." He tilted his head towards her, silently pleading. "My baser self may be terrible and lawless but I still have a code, Doc, and betrayal doesn't sit well with me."

She arched a brow at that. "You realize you've answered my question, then, don't you?"

He chuckled. " _You've_ answered your question," he corrected. "And if that's enough for you, it's enough for me."

She nodded, letting out a breath. "Theo, then," she began, testing the waters. "Is he - "

"He's fine," Draco supplied quickly, though his gaze momentarily faltered, and she wondered for the second time that night how any of them could ever manage to be _fine_. "As is Potter."

"I know," Hermione said. "He texted me." She paused, fidgeting. "So, if they're fine, then who - "

Draco cut her off with a shake of his head. "This is one of those things, Doc," he interrupted, "where it would only hurt you to know the answer to that question."

She railed internally at that but permitted a grimly resigned nod, knowing he was right. "Fine," she conceded, biting her lip. "Anything else I should know?"

He leaned in, kissing her slowly. "Yes," he murmured. "I'm sorry you had to see the worst of me." He kissed her again, his hand rising to curl around the back of her neck. "I wish I knew how to make you unsee it."

She pulled him close, meeting every inch of herself with some spare bit of him.

"I don't," she whispered.

She held him then, wrapped herself around him, felt the warmth of him and floated again to the moment of fear from earlier that evening; the crushing impact of having seen something she knew she could never come back from, of losing all plausible deniability and crossing some invisible line. Of having known the damage he could cause, bearing witness to the truth of him that meant that people had suffered at his hands; of envisioning the unknowable faceless who might still suffer - tomorrow, next week, next year, at intervals she might never fully comprehend. Of realizing, with a bitter sadness, that perhaps the fundamental core of her that had vowed to _do no harm_ was at odds with the core of him, the incomprehensible wildness that wanted so resolutely to be _free_.

For a moment - _multiple_ moments - she tried to process that feeling, to _care_ , but she quickly found that she couldn't. She rooted around in her conscience for her morality, for some compassion that might have otherwise arrived for whoever else might have suffered, but found only a selfish breath of relief that he was here with her. She knew with a sureness she couldn't come back from that whatever sacrifice it had taken on his part, she would gladly have him make it again - so long as it had been in the name of bringing him back to her.

It was the unforgiving certainty of knowing that for him, she would always _fight._

"I'm sorry," she whispered, realizing with a start that she had been crying. "I can have sex in a minute, I just - "

She felt him swallow. "I didn't come for sex," he confessed, the shiver up her spine at odds with his lips on her neck, honesty melting ardently into skin.

"I just want to be with you," he told her, and she wondered how much it had cost him to say it.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Dedicated to boredravenvlaw620! Thank you for reading!_


	20. Whom The Gods Would Destroy

**Chapter 20: Whom the Gods Would Destroy**

"Gentlemen," Tom said briskly, falling into his seat at the head of the table and casting an eye around the room. "I presume you've all heard enough by now to know why you're here."

Draco glanced experimentally at Theo beside him, contemplating the wheels behind his best friend's vacant expression; they'd barely managed three words all morning, and while that was not fully unexpected, it was certainly a rarity. Theo, sensing Draco's eyes on him, looked up, and then made a small gesture under the table towards Tom.

Draco frowned, taking the hint and leaning to his left to mutter in his father's ear. "Where's Slughorn?"

Lucius shrugged, indifferent.

"Yesterday, as I'm sure you've gathered by now," Tom continued, "Greyback's primary associates, Smith and Scabior, took it upon themselves to make an appearance at Rosmerta's." At that, several heads swiveled tellingly to Draco and Theo, and Tom leaned back in his seat, gesturing. "Would you two care to explain yourselves to the rest of the club?" he prompted listlessly.

Draco blanched. "Well," he began, but was promptly cut off.

"Smith fucked with me," Theo supplied bluntly, not looking up as he drummed his fingers against the table. "We fucked back."

Draco grimaced, watching Tom's face transition from an implacable stillness to what read as a chilled expression of amusement. "Essentially," Draco agreed, resigned, and Tom arched a brow, seeming to approve the lack of further detail.

"There was a fight," Tom explained, glancing around the table, "and the altercation escalated." He paused, bring his hand up to curl around his mouth. "Smith's dead," he supplied without fanfare, and then shifted his gaze to Draco; a test, Draco guessed, to see if he would argue, or more accurately, to see if he would make any attempt to clarify the context of the statement.

He didn't.

There was a beat of stunned silence, and then a spattering of approving grunts. "Good," Rowle muttered, and beside him, Avery made a face, seeming to agree. "They owed us one."

"Oh, without question," Tom permitted, his gaze flicking momentarily to Theo, "but it ultimately leaves us even, which is a vulnerable place to be. We either take out Greyback now," he warned, his gaze traveling slowly around the room, "or we accept the fact that he and his crew might come for the rest of us."

"Come for us _again_ , you mean," Avery said gruffly, gesturing to Darian across the table. "If you ask me, we're not even at all - "

"No, we aren't," Theo forced out in agreement, and Draco looked up, startled. "Greyback killed my father," Theo reminded the table gruffly. "He put a bullet in my best friend, and he stabbed my brother in the chest. By comparison, his losses amount to nothing. _Nothing,_ " he spat, his mouth twisting in fury. "Fenrir Greyback has been circling us like a fucking vulture - he's been waiting to pick us dry, clean our bones. Not anymore."

Theo shook his head, clenching a fist that he abruptly slammed against the table. "I'm not waiting," he announced bluntly, and Draco forced a swallow, caught off guard by the vitriol and uncertain how to proceed. "I don't care if it's by ambush or assassination, Greyback goes down. We _put_ him down."

"Theo," Draco murmured under his breath, but the other man wasn't finished.

"I'm not willing to wait to see what happens next," Theo continued, ignoring him. "I've seen enough of what kind of man Greyback is to know that the world's better off without him, and I - " he paused, his voice breaking. "I fucking _refuse_ to wait and see who he comes for next."

Theo paused, his mouth set in a grim line. "I know what I'm capable of," he continued, in a strange convolution of the previous night's confession that was so thoroughly unexpected it made Draco's chest tighten, restricting the air in his lungs. "I know what comes next." Theo glanced around the room, skirting Draco's stare to focus on Tom. "Are we in agreement?"

Tom paused for a moment, considering him, and then nodded once, shifting to sit upright. "Nott proposes retaliation," Tom announced, his gaze traveling expectantly around the table. "Does anyone second his motion?"

Lucius glanced askance, eyeing Theo for a moment before nodding once, his jaw tightened as he spoke. "Seconded."

Draco felt his pulse race as Tom nodded. "All in favor?" Tom invited, glancing at Rowle.

"Aye," Rowle agreed, and beside him, Avery nodded, each Death Eater agreeing one by one in sequence until the motion was brought to Draco, who paused for a moment, clearing his throat. He looked at Theo, trying to read him, but the other man said nothing; he set his chin, unmoving, and Draco forced a swallow, trying to make a decision.

"If we do this," Draco said slowly, and he felt rather than saw the heads at the table turn towards him, "it shouldn't be an ambush. I don't want a gunfight - I don't want casualties, and I definitely don't want a fucking mess." He paused, looking up to meet Tom's eye. "Theo and I will do it," he said flatly, and beside him, Lucius shifted in his chair, turning to stare at him. "We know what Greyback's goons look like, what they carry," Draco explained. "We know where to find him. It makes sense."

There was a collective murmur of unrest, and a frown of disapproval from Darian, but they all understood that there was only one opinion that mattered. Draco waited as Tom studied him from afar, steepling his fingers at his mouth and then leaning forward, nodding once.

"Done," Tom ruled, and then beckoned expectantly, holding out a hand. "Your vote, then, Draco?"

Draco grimaced, glancing one more time at Theo; no motion. "Aye," he agreed, trying not to watch the furrowed motion of his father's brow. "I vote retaliation."

"Then it's decided," Tom announced, with a slightly too-cordial disinterest. "Per your specifications, Draco, you and Theo will settle the score with Greyback. Unless there are any objections?" he prompted, glancing pointedly around the table. Darian looked down, eyeing his hands, but nobody spoke. "Good," Tom said briskly. "Then we're adjourned."

There was an abrupt scraping of chairs and the table was gradually overtaken by movement as Draco turned, trying to catch Theo's arm. "Theo - "

"I have to do something," Theo said, not looking at Draco as he rose to his feet. "I have to - "

"Theo," Draco said again, standing to pause his progress. "Come on."

Theo set his jaw, forcing a smile as he reached out, gripping Draco's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, then opened his mouth; then he closed it again, battling something Draco couldn't quite place. "Just - thanks," Theo finished gruffly, and aimed himself at the boardroom doors, heading for the exit without looking back.

"Draco," Lucius hissed, grabbing his arm and holding him back as Draco made to follow Theo through the doors. "You know Nott's got a fucking death wish. It's one thing if _he_ wants to chase Greyback, but _you_ \- "

"I'm not letting him go alone," Draco argued, yanking his arm free and rounding on his father. "I can't stop him. _You_ seconded his motion," he reminded his father briskly, "and you know Tom would have had me go anyway - "

"Then take a fucking _mob_ with you, Draco," Lucius snapped. "We've got AKs all over this house and a dozen fucking men equipped to handle them - "

"And then what?" Draco prompted. "Start a war with the Knockturn druglords? Turn this into an escalation that gives Greyback's crew a reason to come for all of us? _Fuck_ no," Draco finished furiously. "I'm not ready for that blowback - are _you_?"

"Are you aware what this means?" Lucius pressed frantically. "Do you have any fucking idea what you've just signed yourself up for?"

Draco grimaced, letting the reality of Lucius' point sink in before shaking his head in resignation, letting out a breath. "I'm with him, Dad," Draco said firmly. "If Theo thinks he can live with this on his hands, then I'm not letting him do it by himself."

Lucius let out a low growl. "Draco, you have to - "

"Malfoy," Greg interrupted, and both Draco and Lucius turned to face him. "I want in," he said in a low voice, steadily meeting Draco's eye. "I'm coming with you and Nott."

Draco groaned. "This is exactly what I _don't_ want - "

"Look, I get it," Greg interrupted, shaking his head. "You want to keep the hunting party small." He shrugged. "But I'm coming."

"Why?" Lucius asked, glancing askance as Tom paused beside them, joining their conversation. "What business do you have with Greyback?"

"Smith basically admitted to killing Bones, didn't he?" Greg prompted. "That's - she's - " he stammered to a halt, running a hand wearily through his hair. "Susan," he offered simply, and glanced meaningfully at Draco, who frowned.

"Okay," Draco permitted slowly. "But I don't see why - "

"Goyle's in," Tom cut in lazily, waving a hand. "One added gun offers more benefit than harm. And Lucius," he drawled, giving him a rather impatient look of skepticism, "you'd done far more foolish things than Draco by the time you were his age."

Lucius frowned. "Still - "

"Go," Tom instructed, gesturing through the doors. "You do your son more good by making sure he has what he needs."

"But - "

"Go, Dad," Draco agreed, recognizing that the arch in Tom's brow indicated that he had come for a private conversation. "Get us some fucking guns, would you?"

Lucius hesitated, his mouth still set in a line of disapproval, but eventually forced a nod, gesturing for Greg to follow. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped as he gave Greg's shoulder a shove, dragging him through the door.

Tom waited until the boardroom doors had shut behind them before turning to Draco, eyeing him carefully. "So," he said. "You've thought this through, then?"

"Hardly at all," Draco admitted drily, leaning back against the table. "But I have to imagine it's as good a concept as any."

"Strategic," Tom agreed. "An eye to minimizing damage." He paused, and then tilted his head somewhat approvingly. "You're learning."

"Yeah, well, I've made some rash decisions in the last twenty four hours," Draco acknowledged grimly, and Tom spared half a chuckle. "I figure I could do with some forethought."

"True enough," Tom permitted. "Though, I wonder," he mused slowly, with a marked deliberation to his speech. "Would this have been your choice, had Theodore not been the one to take up the motion?"

Draco shrugged, hiding his hesitation. "Coming for Greyback was an inevitability," he began, but Tom held up a hand.

"If Lucius had made the motion," Tom proposed, and Draco, unhelpfully, felt his response shrivel on his tongue. "If it had been Rowle, or Avery - " At Draco's silence, Tom nodded, seeming to have cemented something for himself. "I simply wonder if you would have volunteered yourself quite so easily."

Draco, who felt himself wading helplessly into a test of some kind, grimaced. "They have less at stake," he offered in explanation, comforting himself with the knowledge that at least the statement had been true. "Their losses were less personal," he explained. "It was always going to be Theo."

"And yet, forgive me, but I'm given to running the variables," Tom mused facetiously, "and from where I stand, this meeting could have gone a number of different ways." He cocked his head, half-smiling. "Don't you think?"

Draco, at a loss, began to gradually register his presence in a cage; he bit his tongue, his response trapped by reservations he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Tom," Draco ventured. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

Tom waved a hand carelessly. "I only wish to understand your motivations, Draco," he remarked. "Your loyalties," he clarified, and Draco felt his stomach lurch.

"Have I - "

"Oh, it's nothing you've done," Tom said flippantly. "But when I sense unsteadiness in the chain, I must protect the brotherhood. You understand," he added smoothly, "don't you?"

"Unsteadiness," Draco repeated uncertainly. "Mine?"

Tom shifted, crossing his arms over his chest as he drew out a purposeful silence. "You want this life, don't you, Draco?" he prompted. "You understand the sacrifices?"

"Yes," Draco said, frowning. "It's all I've ever wanted."

Tom nodded. "And your resolve," he ventured. "You understand that it will be tested?"

Draco inhaled slowly, nodding. _Grief can make fools of us,_ he heard Tom say, the words echoing in his head. _It can cheapen our resolve, and tamper with our better judgment -_

"Choosing this life is not something that is done easily, or even done _once_ ," Tom commented, studying Draco for a response. "The first time you put on the cut and start the ignition is not the time you make the choice. The choice is made every day," he emphasized, "and each time, it is a mindful decision. There is loss in this life, and there is temptation, but there is only one constant, and it is the brotherhood to which we are bound. You are constant," he said pointedly, and Draco nodded. "I am constant. To question that which binds us would be - " he trailed off, licking his lips. "Counterproductive. Unsavory." The corners of his mouth quirked up insincerely. "Unsatisfactory."

Draco blinked, suddenly stumbling over the root of the conversation.

"This is about Theo," Draco realized, and Tom's eyes flashed approvingly, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Ah, Draco," Tom tutted softly, gripping his shoulder once. "I wouldn't get caught up in the complexities. But I take it my message is received, then?"

Draco managed a nod, though he wasn't quite certain that it was fully true. Tom, however, seemed satisfactorily assuaged, turning to exit and then pausing as his hand met the handle of the boardroom's door.

"Oh, but," Tom added brightly, turning over his shoulder as though he'd just remembered something. "A bit of a request, if you wouldn't mind indulging me."

"A request?" Draco prompted skeptically, and Tom smirked.

"We're gentlemen, Draco," he said, in a clear indication that whatever he had in mind wasn't to be misread as optional. "Let's not get caught up in semantics."

"Okay," Draco permitted uncertainly. "The _request_ , then?"

Tom smiled indulgently. "Be certain that it's Theodore who pulls the trigger," he instructed without ornamentation. "I'd hate to be - how did I phrase it? Ah, yes," he murmured. "Unsatisfied."

With that, he pulled the door open and strode through it, disappearing from sight as Draco was left behind to realize that the test was just beginning.

* * *

Harry walked up to his desk and stopped, catching Slughorn's form inside his office. He walked over to the doorway, knocking once on the wood.

"Chief," he said, clearing his throat. "You needed to see me?"

Slughorn looked up from his files, his expression uncharacteristically unreadable. "Close the door, Harry," he instructed hesitantly, and Harry obeyed, slipping inside and taking a seat across from him. "I imagine you may be looking for an explanation from me as to the events of last night," Slughorn began, and Harry shook his head.

"I'm not sure I'll like it," he admitted with a grimace, and Slughorn sighed.

"I'm an old man, Harry," he said simply. "I've seen a lot more of the world than you have, I assure you."

"Really," Harry remarked, unfazed. "So I take it that you've seen your superior officer decide to disregard the law you both swore to uphold, too, then?"

Slughorn took the remark like a slap in the face, swaying backwards from the sting. "Harry," he said sharply, "I hardly think you understand - "

"Understand what?" Harry prompted. "That you took an oath that doesn't seem to matter anymore, if it ever did? That you swore to protect and serve, and yet - "

"I protect," Slughorn cut in flatly. "And I serve - "

"Serve who?" Harry pressed, dismayed. "Yourself?"

"Harry," Slughorn sighed. "You misunderstand me."

"I don't think I do," Harry returned angrily, but Slughorn held up a hand, pausing him.

"I've been a Diagon police officer for a long time," he began. "I've seen my fair share of troubles, and I've come to understand that this town runs best when the Death Eaters are permitted a certain degree of freedom. Dumbledore was a great man," he added, looking nostalgic. "I regret that you weren't able to know him, but he served this community well and loyally, and it has always been in our best interest to encourage a fruitful relationship with the Death Eaters."

"By fruitful," Harry commented bitterly, "do you mean to include the instance of commanding me to stand down at a crime scene? Or is it specifically burying evidence that you're referring to?"

Slughorn blanched. "That's what I've called you in about." He sorted through the files on his desk, picking up a worn manila envelope that had been set aside. "There's something I need you to see."

Harry frowned, accepting the envelope as Slughorn handed it to him. "This is about the Amelia Bones case?" he asked skeptically, glancing over the aged material. "What is it?"

Slughorn hesitated. "Tom Riddle is not Albus Dumbledore," he remarked slowly, in something that decidedly didn't feel like an answer. "At first, I thought that was a good thing."

Harry slid the thin file out of the envelope, pulling it open. "This is - "

He stopped, his breath promptly vacating his lungs as he ran his fingers over the names _James and Lily Potter,_ suddenly suffering a chill up his spine as he glanced up to meet Slughorn's regretful gaze. "This is my parents' murder," Harry registered hoarsely, and Slughorn grimaced. "I thought it was sealed."

"It is," Slughorn confirmed. "Ruled a cold case nearly three decades ago."

Harry frowned. "But then - "

"I have failed you, Harry," Slughorn cut in, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. "I've turned a blind eye to what's happened at the Manor in the hopes of protecting Diagon from unnecessary crime and scrutiny. I regret to say that was a mistake." He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "It's too late for me," he continued, "and my guilt is my own burden, but I must ask you to do your job as if I had never disappointed you." He leaned forward again, looking strangely apologetic. "There is a reason nothing ever points to Tom," Slughorn murmured, and there was a degree of sadness as he glanced down, his gaze briefly settling on the newspaper clipping Harry's hand.

Harry mimicked the motion, glancing down at the pictures of his parents in his hand. "What are you saying?"

Slughorn opened his mouth and then stopped, wilting. "They all have the same snake on their arms," he finally warned. "The same venom in their blood." He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head before glancing back at Harry. "You understand, don't you?"

Harry frowned. "You're saying I should - what, then?" he asked. "Suck the poison out?"

Slughorn reached a hand up to draw it along his jaw, and for the first time, Harry felt he could see just how old the other man really was. "In a sense," Slughorn permitted, and then, upon several seconds of silence, Harry rose to his feet, slowly approaching the door with the file still held fragilely in his hands.

He went home in a daze, feeling inexplicably burdened; he stripped down numbly and turned on the shower, not noticing the sound of Daphne's return until he felt her slipping in behind him, her fingers spreading slowly across his hips.

"You look like you're trying to drown," she commented, and he couldn't quite tell if she was joking.

He turned to face her, slicking the hair back from his face. "I told you I was born here," he offered tangentially, and she nodded, knowing him well enough to wait. "I left when my parents died."

"Died?" Daphne prompted knowingly, sweeping her own hair from her eyes to look up at him.

"Killed," Harry amended, grimacing. "Drive by."

"Oh," she murmured, glancing sorrowfully at him. "I'm sorry, Harry."

He tried to shrug, but didn't quite manage it. "I've never really looked into their deaths," he admitted. "The case was cold, and it was - painful," he tossed out in explanation, and Daphne nodded. "I used to be curious, but then - "

He trailed off, and Daphne nodded again, her hands shifting to his chest. "I expect it's the same reason I don't look for my mother," she guessed. "Because the thought of knowing - " she shrugged, rubbing water from her cheek. "It might just bring me to my knees."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, letting the beads of water slip from his nose as he looked down, not certain he could meet her eye. "But I think - " he hesitated. "I think I need to find out."

"Now?" Daphne asked, slipping a finger under his chin. "What changed?"

"Slughorn," he said simply. "He gave me my parents' case file, and then said something cryptic about Tom Riddle, and then something about 'they all have the same snake,' and - "

He faltered, coming to a sudden stop.

"Oh," Daphne acknowledged, her lips twitching into a frown as she seemed to unconsciously shift, her fingers rising to the tattoo that laced across her upper arm. "Do you trust him?" she asked dully, running her thumb along the intersect of the snake and the rose. "Slughorn?"

"No," Harry confessed, shaking his head and then reaching out, taking her fingers in his. "But I don't really know who I trust anymore," he said honestly, and she nodded, seeming to understand.

"I suppose I'm not much help," she admitted, smiling sadly before looking up. "Do you trust me?" she asked plainly, and he, with a horrifying lack of restraint, let out an unexpected laugh.

Daphne took a step back, openly dismayed, and he gingerly reeled her back in, settling his hands on her hips and pulling her towards him. "I'm sorry," he offered hastily, shaking his head. "I really am, it's just - " he sighed. "I _do_ trust you," he confessed, laughing again, "and it strikes me as funny, really, when there are so many reasons I shouldn't, or shouldn't want to, even, but - " he trailed off again, bringing her lips to his. "I do," he murmured, kissing her gently. "Fuck me, I really do."

She sighed against his lips, exhaling onto them. "Would it help," she suggested softly, "if I spared a little bit of truth about my terrible youth?"

"That would be transcendent," he admitted, resting his forehead against hers, and she laughed quietly, shaking her head.

"The gun," she offered after a moment. "The one Weasley mentioned."

"Oh, that," Harry said weakly, feigning surprise. "I'd forgotten."

Daphne rolled her eyes, smiling, but the expression slowly faded. "After my dad died," she began tentatively, swallowing, "I started carrying his pistol with me. I don't know why," she insisted quickly, and then grimaced, raising a hand to her face. "I'm lying already," she murmured, shaking her head. "I _do_ know why."

Harry waited, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm listening."

She fidgeted in place, struggling. "It's not like I was looking for trouble," she assured him. "I didn't have a plan to use it or anything, but it was like - " she hesitated. "I wanted someone to give me a reason to use it. Like I was _waiting_ for a reason to use it, because I felt powerless, and I wanted - "

"To take the power back," Harry realized, nodding. "Your father was gone, your mother - "

"And at first I was careful for Astoria - I _tried_ , really, but then she got involved with Draco, and it just - it seemed like the world was carrying on just fine and I was still there, just _waiting_ for something to happen," Daphne continued, biting her lip. "And then I was at a party - Weasley's party," she clarified, "or Finnegan's, or one of them - and Draco was with Astoria, and I was with Theo, and he - he found the gun. In my purse," she explained. "I had told him to grab a joi- "

She made a face, cutting herself off, and Harry chuckled. "I'm off duty," he reminded her, and she smiled weakly, waving a hand to dismiss the details.

"Theo was furious," she went on. "Told me fucking up my life getting stoned was one thing, but that I shouldn't - " she swallowed, forcing her eyes shut. "He thought it was for me," she summarized briskly. "The gun, I mean."

Harry nodded, brushing the comment off at first; but then, catching something in her gaze, he frowned. "Was it?" he asked slowly, and Daphne flinched.

"I can't honestly tell you it wasn't," she admitted, clearly hoping to gloss over the subject. "But one thing led to another," she continued firmly, "and we fought, and I took it from him, and then I - "

She broke off, pained, and Harry blinked, startled.

"It was _Nott_ you held at gunpoint?" he asked in disbelief, and she nodded, not looking at him.

"I apologized," she said quickly, "and right after that, I left. I stopped smoking and drinking, I got my shit together and I didn't come back if I could help it. I left it - _this_ ," she clarified, waving a hand ambiguously, "everything. I left it behind me. Or thought I did," she corrected herself, looking disappointed. "But then - "

She withered, her shoulders slumping forward, and Harry took her face in his hands, kissing her firmly; he ran his tongue across the droplets on her lips and shifted her, pressing her back against the shower wall and tangling his fingers in her hair. She sighed - relief, he suspected, which served as a pull - and he tightened his grip on her - desperation that came to a push - and it was a triumph over memory; it was acceptance shared between them, and the manifestation of the truth he'd so desperately craved, even if it came with knowing how badly she'd suffered.

"Am I a nightmare for you?" he asked hoarsely when they broke apart, both chasing their errant breaths. "Keeping you here," he murmured. "Is this a mistake?"

She leaned back, her gaze skating over his face. "I have ghosts here," she admitted. "My memories have teeth." She swept her fingers through his hair, smiling up at him. "But so do you," she reminded him, "and maybe it wouldn't be fair that either of us would have to be alone in this haunted town that bites."

Harry smiled, and then let his smile fall. "I have to read the file on my parents," he realized, "don't I?"

Daphne managed a shrug, looking saddened. "If you want the truth," she said with a nod. "But," she added, tightening her arms around his neck, "just be certain it's _your_ truth, and not the truth that someone else wants you to find."

Harry nodded, slowly, and then, finding words insufficient, he kissed her again; again, and again, and then, abruptly, he slipped back into laughter, his breath dancing across her lips.

"What?" Daphne demanded, and he pulled back, shaking his head.

"I just can't believe you pulled a gun on Nott," he admitted, and she rolled her eyes. "I bet he fully deserved it," he assured her, his amusement dissipating to a chuckle.

"He might have," Daphne admitted. "But _still_."

"You know, he might need you now," Harry told her. "He lost his father, and it's - " he hesitated, thinking of the look on Nott's face as he'd hit Smith. "It's not good."

Daphne sobered, her smile fading. "I know," she said. "I've been thinking I should see him. I just - I don't know what I would say," she admitted.

Harry pulled her closer, taking comfort from her warmth.

"I think you'd think of something," Harry murmured, pressing his lips against her hair.

* * *

 _ **Can I see you?**_

 _ **I'm at work. You know - expertly saving lives, altering the course of human existence, etc.**_

 _ **Doc, there's no need to remind me of your excellence. I'm aware.**_

 _ **Did I mention the expert life saving?**_

 _ **You know what I like about you? Your humility. It's breathtaking.**_

 _ **You know what's breathtaking?**_

 _ **AH, AT LONG LAST, A DICK SPEECH!**_

 _ **Actually, I was going to say cardiac arrest.**_

 _ **You weren't.**_

 _ **I was.**_

 _ **Maybe I don't want to see you, then.**_

 _ **Maybe you don't.**_

 _ **No. No, I definitely do. Please see me.**_

 _ **That sounds urgent.**_

 _ **It is.**_

 _ **How urgent?**_

 _ **Cardiac arrest. Ruptured spleen. Fuck, Doc, I'm bleeding out.**_

 _ **Ah, the height of urgency.**_

 _ **Doc. Hermione. Please.**_

She frowned.

 _ **Now it sounds serious AND urgent.**_

 _ **It is. I can't really go into detail.**_

 _ **Imagine that.**_

 _ **I deserve that.**_

 _ **Quite.**_

 _ **But will you see me?**_

 _ **Now?**_

 _ **Yes. I'm outside.**_

 _ **Outside where?**_

 _ **St Mungo's. West entrance.**_

 _ **Draco, I really don't have a lot of time.**_

 _ **I don't need a lot. I promise. Five minutes.**_

She sighed, turning towards the west wing of the hospital. _**I'll be right there**_ , she typed, but was promptly cut off as she barreled into a familiar leather-clad form, Tom Riddle's expectant smirk suddenly materializing above her head.

"Dr Granger," he said neutrally, and her blood suddenly chilled in her veins. "Do you have a moment?"

"Tom," Hermione forced out, managing a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to speak to you, actually," he informed her. "I felt it was necessary to explain what happened last night."

"Oh, no, it really wasn't," Hermione said hurriedly, but she stopped as something glimmered momentarily in his blue eyes at her response; it was a glint - a flash of _something_ \- and she knew, without any reasonable explanation, that whatever she'd caught was somehow troubling.

"Really?" Tom prompted expectantly. "You watched me hold a man at gunpoint, and yet you don't wish for an explanation? Seems unlikely," he murmured. "Unless, of course," he suggested slyly, "you've already spoken to someone else about it?"

"No," she insisted quickly. "Of course not, I just thought - I just assumed - "

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," Tom said, grinning. "But I'd rather you hear from me the truth of what happened. You know," he added silkily, "for purposes of sustaining our friendship."

Hermione, feeling uncomfortable, found it difficult to meet his eye. "I wasn't going to tell anyone," she offered slowly, and he laughed.

"No, no, you misunderstand," he assured her. "I simply want to explain myself to you personally. You see, Theodore has a tendency to get carried away," he offered, "and being yourself a highly sophisticated woman without our brutish testosterone-driven tendencies, you may not be aware the effectiveness of being held responsible for our actions by what are perhaps - " he paused, toying with the concept. "Unconventional measures," he determined. "I was simply getting his attention."

"I understand," Hermione offered hurriedly, nodding to him. "Really, Tom, it's fine - I just have a lot of things on my plate," she babbled, re-orienting herself towards the west wing. "Busy doctoring, you know - "

"Tell me, Dr Granger," Tom remarked casually, as though something had just occurred to him. "Are you familiar with much of Plato's philosophy?"

She froze, pivoting back towards him. "I'm sorry?"

"An interesting man, Plato," Tom commented. "Did you know that the concept of soulmates originates with him? Well, with his retelling of Greek mythology," Tom clarified. "Do you know it?" he prompted. "It was a myth wherein humans were originally born with - "

"Four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces," Hermione supplied quietly, and Tom clapped his hands together, seemingly pleased.

"Ah, so you _have_ heard it," he declared, nodding once. "And I presume you know, then, that Zeus," Tom continued, "separated the creatures into two halves, condemning them to seek one another for eternity." At her uncertain nod, he eyed her closely, tapping his mouth. "Do you know why he separated the halves, Dr Granger?"

She forced a swallow. "Tell me," she invited, hoping the statement came off as unburdened as she'd intended.

"Ah, well, it's a matter of power, isn't it?" Tom remarked. "That Zeus knew they'd be weaker having to search for each other - exhausting them, really, by keeping them apart, and thus relegating them within the confines of his reign." He flashed her a sharpened smile. "Devastating, isn't it?"

There was something vaguely threatening in the statement, though nothing she could come up with could explain how he would know; but the reference to Plato _,_ and the idea - _no_ , she corrected herself, the _threat_ \- of separation amounted to something that felt far outside the realm of innocent conversation.

Hermione considered him for a moment, treading carefully. "Zeus had a number of misconceptions," she ventured, and Tom smirked.

"And still, he's a god," Tom said flippantly. "Ill-conceived or not, he knew how to live forever."

"Plato believed the human soul was immortal," Hermione commented, and Tom, to her surprise, laughed.

"And yet the soul doesn't live on Olympus sipping ambrosia," he reminded her. "So perhaps it's less a matter of immortality than power." He eyed her closely, curling a hand around his mouth. "Don't you think?"

"Power again," Hermione noted. "Seems to be a common theme, Tom."

"An inescapability," he offered curtly in explanation. "An inevitable search, I should think."

"For Zeus, you mean?" she prompted drily, and he smiled.

"For Zeus," he agreed. "Different rules for us mortals, of course."

"Of course," Hermione permitted, feeling faintly uneasy. "Well," she offered, retreating, "I'm glad you took the time to explain yourself, Tom, but - "

"Go, go," he urged politely, giving her another unsettling smile. "I'm sure you have plenty of doctoring to do."

She nodded, giving him an awkward wave goodbye, and then nearly sprinted around the corner, only just avoiding a collision with one of the nurses as she headed for the opposite end of the building, her thoughts racing through the implications of what Tom Riddle had said.

She came through the doors to see that Draco was leaning against the entrance, one foot propped up against the hospital wall as he stared blankly ahead, contemplating something. He looked far away, and despite the urgency she'd had up to the moment of bursting through the sliding glass doors - _Tom knows something, I don't know what I don't know why I don't know how but he knows something, he knows, he knows -_ she suddenly felt her concern dissolve and take flight, vanishing with the rest of the world as she carefully touched her hand to his.

"Draco," she murmured, and he looked up, startled.

"Hi," he said, looking relieved to see her. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Does anyone know you're here?" she asked tentatively, wondering if Tom had seen him, and he shook his head.

"No, and I don't have long," he told her, glancing around before taking her hand, toying with her fingers. "I just needed to see you," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She watched him look down sorrowfully, something indefinable emerging from the depths of his grey eyes. "Did something happen?" she asked him. "Something you need to talk about?"

He hesitated, a weary line of concern passing over his forehead.

"Tell me," she coaxed him, and he sighed.

"How do you know," he began cautiously, "that something is the - " a pause. "The right thing?"

"Right thing?" Hermione echoed, feeling a brush of concern, and he nodded.

"What if there's something you have to do," he said slowly, "and it's bad - and you know it's bad, but you also _know_ ," he insisted emphatically, "you fucking _know_ , somehow, that the alternative would be - " he trailed off, forcing the word out. "Worse?"

Hermione considered the question for a moment, processing both its wording and its delivery. Being what she was, under other circumstances she suspected she would have simply opened her mouth, ready to jump into the skeletal elements of the conversation; the argument, for example, of a greater good - of ends that justified their means, or of hypotheses of conscience. Of quantifiable rights and wrongs, and things that could be measured; empirical truths, and things she understood.

But then, seeing the struggle in his expression, she let logic die on her tongue, melting to something like sympathy. "You already made up your mind," she realized, staring up at him. "You're asking me to forgive you in advance for something you haven't done yet, aren't you?"

He grimaced; not denial, she noted, even if it was a clear expression of guilt. "Is it unfair to ask?"

She swallowed, uncertain of the answer. "I think," she began, "that all you can do is be certain you can live with your choices." She slid a thumb along the line of his palm, chewing her lip. "If you can live with it on your hands, then so can I."

There was a moment of stillness; of quiet.

"And if I can't?" Draco asked, his grey eyes pained as they met hers.

She sighed, wishing she could give him more.

"You know," she murmured, closing his fingers around his palm, "you might be ideal if you weren't so enigmatic."

A smile pulled at his lips. "Or, maybe if I weren't enigmatic, I wouldn't be ideal," he reminded her, and she cocked her head, offering him a slow, careful smile in return.

"Someone relatively informed once told me that I wouldn't want you if you were easy," she remarked, and he shook his head in muted laughter, exchanging the rare luxury of an easy breath.

It was simple, and unburdened, and in the warmth of the moment he gave their surroundings another sweeping glance; and then he pulled her into his arms, fitting her in the crevices of them as he bent his lips to hers.

He'd kissed her a thousand different ways, she was sure, and with a thousand different meanings; he'd kissed her through pain, like raindrops on rooftops, scattered and frantic; with passion, with furor, with a searing, scalding heat; with reverence, slow and careful, and penitent like prayer; like contrition, like genuflection on one knee. He'd kissed her desperate and hungry, aching and wanting, breathless and exultant; he'd kissed her mad and soft and quiet, and all those things at once; he'd kissed her equally with truth and wonder, and she'd felt awe and inspiration in the pressure of each one.

A thousand different ways, she knew, and still, this one was different -

Like two halves, condemned to eternity, were finally coming home.

"Do what you have to," she whispered eventually, and then she pulled away, forcing herself to head for the hospital doors. "Do what's right."

"Doc," he called after her, wearily rubbing the back of his neck as she turned to look at him. "How will I know what that is?"

She paused at the door, shaking her head. "You'll know," she said simply. "And when it's over - "

She stopped, hesitating, and he waited.

"When the damage is done, and the smoke clears," she promised, "I'll be the one standing in the rubble."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Chapter title comes from the phrase "Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad with power." Dedicated to Helianthus7!_


	21. Take It Back

_**a/n:**_ _remember when the warnings on this fic were for smut and not for murder? We'll get back to that, I promise . . . just not today._

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Take It Back**

Theo had just finished emptying the last of the contents of his refrigerator (a few too many packets of soy sauce left behind a plastic container that had once contained store-bought pico de gallo) when he heard an unexpected knock at the door. He glanced at his watch - a gift from his father for his twenty-first birthday that Theo now realized he should probably take it off, lest the reminder continue to irk him - and frowned.

He walked to the door, pulling it open. "I thought we said - "

He stopped, catching the familiar head of dark auburn hair. "Daph," he commented, surprised. "Sorry, thought you were someone else."

"Hey," Daphne said, smiling with an uncharacteristic timidity. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, taking a step back to permit her entry. "Of course. I was about to shower and head out," he supplied as a caveat, "but I've got a few minutes, and - "

He broke off, watching her fidget. "Is everything okay?"

"It's - yeah, actually," Daphne said, glancing around the room. "I'm - " she hesitated, furrowing her brow, and then set her jaw. "Good," she murmured under her breath, frowning at something that he wasn't sure how to identify.

"Convincing," Theo remarked, rolling his eyes. "Want anything to drink? I just cleaned out the fridge," he remembered, "but I could get you a glass of water, if you're - "

"Theo," Daphne interrupted, her hazel eyes flashing as she looked at him. "What the fuck?"

"Ah, wonderful," Theo replied. "I do love when people react appropriately to my hospitality - truly, it warms me completely - "

"You cleaned out your fridge?" she demanded, and sweeping an arm violently around the room. "This room is clean," she declared furiously, suddenly taking off to stomp in the direction of the bedroom. "You're a _mess_ , Theo, you always have been - you once yelled at me for trying to pick up your socks, and let me guess, you've - "

She burst through the door to his bedroom, throwing her hands in the air. "Theo," she seethed, "what the fuck is this?"

He sighed, following her to the doorway and knowing precisely what she'd seen. "It's nothing," he assured her, and she spun around, glaring at him in a dazzling fit of fury.

"It's not _nothing_ ," she said forcefully, jabbing a finger at his face. "You - you wrote letters," she said, picking them up off his desk. "Fleur," she murmured to herself in confusion, frowning at the unfamiliar name, "Draco, and - "

She turned around again. "Me?" she asked, a little disbelieving. "You wrote to me?"

Theo leaned against the doorway, letting out a grumble of a sigh. "Of course I fucking wrote to you," he muttered, shaking his head. "But, for the record," he added, louder, "this really isn't what it looks like."

"Really?" Daphne prompted skeptically. "Because it looks an awful lot like you're preparing for something." Her hard frown slipped, softening. "It looks like you're preparing _us,_ Theo," she murmured worriedly, walking up to him and meeting his eye with concern. "What's going on?"

He hesitated.

"It's not what it looks like," he said again, feeling helpless, and she grimaced.

"You remember this, don't you?" she asked him. "You remember a conversation we had that was _just like_ this one?"

 _Daphne, what the hell are you doing with a gun?_

 _Nothing, Theo, it's not what it looks like -_

He faltered, running a hand through his hair. "Yes," he confirmed slowly, "but it really isn't, and I mean that now just like you meant it then. It _isn't_ what you think. I'm not saying - I'm just - " he looked away, pulling apprehensively at his mouth as he attempted to express his thoughts in words.

"I just," he began, and sighed. "I don't want to be a burden if - if something happens to me," he admitted cautiously. "And more importantly, I want to be sure that if anything does, that it's not like it was with my dad - or _your_ dad, for that matter." He withered slightly, inexplicably bereft. "I just - I want to have said everything, Daphne," he finished pleadingly, eyeing his hands.

She swallowed, watching him struggle, before taking a step towards him.

"Why now?" Daphne asked, drawing his hand away from his face and holding it firmly in hers. "Why would you do all of this now?"

Theo shook his head, stepping away.

"You know I can't talk about it," he said firmly, and Daphne's expression hardened again, admonishing him.

"You're doing something, aren't you?" she said flatly, effortlessly reading the lines of his face. "Tonight?"

"Stop," Theo warned her. "You know you can't ask quest- "

"I've seen enough to know that you think you might die, and that alone gives me plenty of information," Daphne protested furiously, doing away with the distance between them to glare up at him, angry now. "How the fuck will you live with yourself, Theo," she demanded, "after whatever it is you're supposed to do?"

For a moment, he was silent.

And then, despite everything - despite the accusation in her eyes and the disapproval in her posture - Theo found himself sputtering in laughter, succumbing to a wild need to free himself of the tiny monsters taking root in his spine; the demons that were weighing him down, robbing him blind.

"That's the fucking point _,_ " Theo informed her sharply, hearing the tremor in his voice. "How am I supposed to live with myself if this is what my life is?" he demanded. "If it isn't him - if it's not today - it'll just be something _just like this,_ something just as fucked. If he doesn't kill me today," he ranted, forcing the image of Greyback out of his head, "it'll still be someone just like him, doing the same thing to me that he did to my dad - with a gun, or a knife, or another fucking _bomb_ \- "

"Theodore Nott," Daphne interrupted sternly, glaring him. "I know you better than this," she began, opening her mouth to lecture him, but he cut her off.

"You have no fucking clue what's going on, Daph," Theo retorted, bristling. "Astoria is just the tip of the iceberg," he raged, "and there's no getting out of this life - so I might as well just - "

"Might as well just _what_?" Daphne demanded. "Give up?" She went back to the desk, picking up the letter with her name on it and brandishing it in his face. "Is that what this is, Theo? Is this you saying goodbye?"

"No," Theo muttered, "it's - I just - "

"What?" Daphne prompted, infuriated. "You didn't think it was worth saying it to my face?"

"It's not like that," Theo growled, snatching the envelope from her hands and ripping it open. "You don't get it, Daph, I just - _here_ ," he said impatiently, taking the letter out and shoving it in her hands. "Just fucking read it yourself."

She glared at him, looking like she might refuse on the basis of pure, unadulterated stubbornness, but she must have seen something on his face; she nodded grimly, unfolding it and letting her eyes skim the page.

"Daphne," she sighed, orating the letter, "I wouldn't be who I am today without you." She stopped, glancing up at him, and he shrugged. "You're strong," she continued reading, "and you're brave, and you're fucking impossible in the best way, and I couldn't - " she paused, bringing her hand to her mouth. "I couldn't be prouder of you."

A moment passed before she glanced up, shaking her head as she re-folded the letter. "Theo," she began, but he held up a hand, stopping her.

"I wasn't saying goodbye," he clarified quietly. "I was just saying what needed to be said. Just in case," he added, clearing his throat, "in case I never got the chance. That way the last thing I said to you would be something worth remembering, and not - "

 _You hate me, Theodore, for some reason that I don't fucking understand -_

 _I blame you for this life, Dad -_

He shut his eyes, opened them, and realized Daphne had wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest.

"Don't give up on yourself, Theo," she murmured to him, leaning back to meet his eye. "You still have a choice," she told him. "We don't have to be haunted by the ghosts of our dead fathers."

Theo let out a mirthless laugh. "Don't we?" he prompted darkly. "You're still running."

She shook her head. "Not anymore," she promised him. "And _you_ ," she continued, stabbing a finger pointedly into his chest, "can't run around crashing into every reckless situation you can find just because you're angry with yourself. Be kind, Theo," she admonished him, her brow furrowing. "Be kind to yourself, because the world is a better place with you in it."

"Even for you?" Theo asked skeptically, and Daphne arched a brow.

"Are you kidding?" she prompted. "I'm about the only person who ever got to see the real you under all those incomprehensible layers of fuckery, so yeah." She pulled away, gesturing back towards the desk. "I'm one of three, I guess," she murmured, and then cocked her head curiously, staring at him. "Can I read Draco's?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes.

"Always so nosy, Greengrass," he murmured, but he nodded, and she slipped away, picking it up and taking the note out of the envelope.

It contained, as he knew, only a single line.

"I hope I die taking a bullet for you," Daphne read, "because that's the only way you'll ever understand." She looked up, puzzled. "Understand what?"

Theo shrugged. "He'll know," he said simply, and watched Daphne's gaze travel to the letter for Fleur. "Not that one," he warned. "That one's private."

"What is it?" Daphne asked, and he smirked.

"A dick pic."

"Is not," Daphne scoffed, and then frowned. "Is it?"

"I guess you'll never know," Theo told her, shrugging indifferently, and Daphne huffed, feigning disappointment.

"Is this your girl?" Daphne asked. "Fleur?"

"I think so," he replied. "I hope so."

"Does she _complete you_?" Daphne teased, batting her lashes. "Make you a better person and all that magic?"

"Actually, she seems to like me the way I am, which is deeply unsettling," Theo informed her, and then crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her questioningly. "How's fucking Potter been going for you, by the way?"

Daphne's mouth fell open, which she tried unsuccessfully to hide. "I'm not - "

"Save it, Greengrass," Theo muttered, smirking at her. "I know you, and I know you wouldn't have stayed in Diagon if it weren't for him. Besides," he added, pretending at disinterest, "he's sort of an open book, and he clearly really likes you. Like, _balls-deep_ in like with you."

Daphne sighed, exasperated, but smiled. "I really like him, too," she confessed. "He's," she hesitated, thinking. " _Honest_ , you know? I need that in my life. He's just so - " she shrugged. " _Good_."

"Yeah, he is," Theo agreed. "Much as I loathe it most of the time."

Daphne smiled, and Theo took a step towards her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I want you to be happy," he told her, with as much sincerity as he could muster. "You deserve goodness in your life."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, turning to lightly peck his cheek. "Let's have coffee tomorrow," she suggested, and he made a face.

"Why?"

"Because," she murmured. "I have no plans, and I like coffee, and we can talk about your shitty dad and why you miss him, even if he was shitty. And besides," she added, "I think maybe you need a reason to keep a promise." She pulled away, resting her palm against his cheek. "So," she continued, with a false but well-intentioned brightness. "How about you try not to get yourself killed tonight, and then we go grab some coffee tomorrow? My treat," she assured him. "I'll even buy you your own cup so you don't have to steal mine, like usual."

He tried to smile, but didn't quite manage it.

"Daph," he said uncertainly. "I don't know if I ca- "

"Tomorrow," she cut in. "Promise?"

He sighed, but relented.

"Yes," he told her, patting the top of her head. "I promise."

* * *

"I don't have a lot of time, Potter," Malfoy said briskly, slipping into the booth. "I have somewhere I need to be."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with that little turf war I interrupted between you and Greyback's muscle, would it?" Harry prompted knowingly, and Malfoy's expression very nearly didn't slip.

"No," he lied, leaning casually against the bench. "I wonder what would possess you to think so, Potter," he added airily, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know that I know you're lying, right?" Harry said pointedly, and Malfoy shrugged.

"Think of it as a favor," he offered wryly. "I don't burden either of us with the truth, but the message still comes across."

Harry shook his head wearily, wondering if he weren't about to do something completely stupid.

"So?" Malfoy prompted, and Harry reached into his bag.

"I need you to do something for me," he explained, tossing his parents' file onto the table. "I need you to look through this and tell me what you make of it."

Malfoy frowned. "What is it?" he asked skeptically, but curiosity had already gotten the better of him; he leaned forward, opening the file. "Potter," he murmured, reading their names, and then glanced up. "This can't be good," he muttered. "Have you read it?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Slughorn just gave it to me earlier today," he added in explanation, meeting Malfoy's curiously narrowed glance. "He hinted that it had something to do with why Tom wanted Amelia Bones' case list kept out of the investigation."

"You're sure he wasn't just sending you on a wild goose chase?" Malfoy asked, skimming the handful of articles and notes in the file. "Something to keep you busy so that you don't suspect him of foul play?"

"I'd considered the possibility," Harry agreed, "but he seemed sincere. He seemed guilty, actually," Harry clarified, recalling the sense of anguish in the police chief's features. "But not the kind of guilty that has something to hide."

"Well, everyone's always got something to hide," Malfoy murmured, still looking over the material. Harry was, despite his own misgivings, unexpectedly satisfied with how carefully the other man pored over the file, his pale brow furrowed as he read. "Looks like they were killed in some kind of foiled break-in," Malfoy said, and Harry frowned.

"No, it was a drive-by," Harry said. "That was the official ruling."

"Well, without confessing too many burdensome truths, the official ruling is rarely something to go on," Malfoy replied, pointing to something in the responding officer's notes. "It says they lived in an apartment building with multiple units, and this happened _on Halloween,_ " he said emphatically, "and yet there are no witnesses? _And_ the shots were too accurate," he added. "If this were a Knockturn drive-by like they're suggesting, the shots would have been numerous, scattered, messy. From an automatic weapon, too, not a handgun." Malfoy frowned again. "These were kill shots."

Harry tried not to focus on the way his mind was swimming with the thought of his parents' deaths, instead pressing through to the details. _They're subjects,_ he told himself, _victims._

 _Not Mom and Dad._

"How do you know it was a break-in?" Harry asked hoarsely, clearing the sticky discomfort of his memories from the back of his throat.

"Mostly a guess," Malfoy replied, not seeming to notice Harry's change in breathing. "The guy they pinned it on died from some pretty fucking inexpert shots, which is what I would expect from someone shooting at a person who might be breaking into their house. Hard to tell for certain," he added, eyeing the coroner's report. "This is really shitty work."

Harry grimaced. "You're very familiar with this," he commented, and Malfoy looked up, hearing the intent in the comment.

"I've done some shit, Potter," Malfoy replied, unflinching. "I've been taught to think like a shitty person." He looked back down, scanning for something. "This Morfin Gaunt," Malfoy continued, frowning. "The guy they think fired the shots - "

"Drug addict," Harry explained. "Had a record as well. He'd been recently released from prison."

"Well, that's convenient," Malfoy commented, scoffing. "No need for the police to go digging around when there's such an obvious choice, I take it."

"He was found near the scene in an old car," Harry said, pointing to that detail in the scant police report. "He'd bled out."

"Yeah, no kidding," Malfoy sniffed. "These wounds are - " he stopped, frowning. "Actually, these wounds might be more purposeful than they seem," he asserted after a moment's pause. "Hard to tell, but maybe they're not as amateurish as I thought." He looked up, narrowing his eyes. "You said Slughorn thinks this has something to do with Tom?"

"He said 'there's a reason nothing ever points to Tom,' and then - " Harry hesitated. "And then he said not to trust any Death Eaters."

Malfoy leaned back, surprised. "And so," he drawled, "instead of listening to him, you just - "

He waved a hand, gesturing pointedly to himself.

"Look, I'm too close to this," Harry explained, gesturing to the file. "I want to know what happened to them, but I'm not going to be able to see this clearly. I'm going to be filling the blanks with emotion, and suspicion, and - " he shrugged. "The point is, I need someone else's eyes on this. _Especially_ ," he declared emphatically, "if it ends up having anything to do with Tom Riddle. I don't like the guy," Harry reminded him. "I don't trust him. But you - "

He gestured meaningfully, and Malfoy considered his intent, studying him from afar.

"I do provide a somewhat unique perspective," Malfoy eventually agreed, tapping his fingers on the table in consideration. "Though I'm still surprised you'd put something this close to you in my hands."

Part of Harry wanted to laugh in agreement; instead, he shrugged, resigned.

"The thing is," he began slowly, "for whatever fucked up reason, I seem to have learned to trust you." He paused, letting the statement take root. "And this is me taking the power back."

Malfoy arched a brow. "From what?"

"You said my gut was fucked," Harry pointed out, "but I don't think it is. I think what happened is that I let myself believe that I was losing my clarity in my work because I was convinced that the snake on your arm meant something. That it was _supposed_ to mean something," he clarified, and paused. "But this time my gut says you can help, and I'm going with it." He shrugged. "Taking the power back," he offered again, and this time Malfoy seemed to have grasped the point.

"You think I'll help you," Malfoy commented neutrally, leaning back. "Why?"

"You knew I'd help _you_ ," Harry reminded him. "You knew when you needed someone to believe you, it was going to be me." He set his jaw. "Are you really going to tell me that doesn't work both ways, Malfoy?"

Malfoy leaned forward, scraping his fingers over the stubble on his cheeks before shutting the file, resting a hand on it.

"Draco," he said, and Harry blinked.

"What?"

"My name is Draco," Malfoy - _Draco,_ Harry amended internally - repeated. "And I can't make any promises, but - "

"I don't need anything to come out of it," Harry said quickly. "This isn't - it's not a witch hunt, okay? I just want answers, and if this happens to connect to Amelia Bones, or to Tom, or even somehow to Astoria - "

"I'll get you what I can," Draco assured him, his grey eyes sharp with sincerity. "You have my word, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected, and Draco shrugged.

"Not a great name, but the intent of the gesture is noted," he muttered, sliding the file under his arm and rising to his feet. "As lovely as this episode of unlikely bedfellows has been," he announced, "as I mentioned, my services are required elsewhere - "

"He packages on Wednesdays, ships on Thursdays," Harry cut in, innocently sipping his coffee cup. "Standard practice - circulates his shit in time for weekend scores."

Draco paused, sitting back down at the reference to Greyback. "So he'd be in his warehouse tonight, then?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah, most likely," Harry supplied. "His goons'll be out on runs, too. He might have tightened security if he's heard about what happened to the other two, but still, it'll be lighter than it would be any other day."

"Huh," Draco remarked, his grey eyes foggily distracted as he processed the new information. "Ever been there?"

Harry nodded. "We went there once with a search warrant. Found nothing, obviously, as he'd had plenty of warning," Harry added flippantly, and Draco nodded, having likely run through a similar process from the other side. "But I saw a lot of the warehouse. He's got a room in the back, northeast side of the building."

"Safe room, or escape route?" Draco asked, and Harry gestured, indicating the former.

"They'd clearly been tipped off to remove everything before we showed up with the warrant, but you can tell he keeps a fuck ton of ammo back there. Definitely the work of someone prepared to outgun anyone who fucks with him," Harry warned, "so even if you can cut him off in there, you still chance ending up in a bloody shit show of a gunfight. Get there _first_ , though," Harry suggested, "and - "

He shrugged, letting Draco's thought process fill in the blanks.

"Got it," Draco agreed quietly, mulling it over in his mind and rising to his feet again. He paused, frowning, and then glanced back down at Harry. "You might have just saved my life, Potter," he murmured, with an underlying hint of what Harry judged to be either disbelief, awe, or gratitude; it was always difficult to tell with him.

Lacking a better response, Harry took a leaf from the other man's book of ineffable arrogance, sparing him an affectatious sniff.

"Better live to get me the answers I asked for, then," he said, pointing to the file, and Draco smirked, promptly turning on his heel to exit the diner and shaking his head as he left.

* * *

Despite several persuasive reasons to the contrary, Draco took the apprehension in Theo's posture upon arrival in Knockturn to be a good sign; it meant that a touch of Theo's stony indifference had faded, yielding to something more accurately resembling the man underneath.

 _Tom wants you to pull the trigger,_ Draco had said, giving Theo the privilege of uninhibited honesty that he afforded so sparingly to others. _It wasn't a question._

He saw a glimmer of uncertainty in Theo's eye at that, and thanked every deity he could name. _I can't say I'm surprised,_ Theo replied, and then nodded. _I can do it,_ he added. _I meant what I said. Greyback owes us._

But Draco had always known him better than that.

 _Someday you won't be so angry,_ Draco had been careful not to say, violently biting his tongue. _Someday, on a day a long way from this one, you will no longer have meant what you said._

He only wished they'd been permitted to wait until that day.

They'd sent Greg in first, on his insistence; _set me loose in the warehouse,_ Greg had said, lofting a set of AKs in the air with a smirk. _Believe me, I'll be fine._

 _We'll get to the back office,_ Theo agreed. _Take Greyback out before he gets to his stash._

 _Easy,_ Greg agreed, though Draco had certainly had his doubts. Potter - _Harry,_ Draco corrected himself - had been right about Greyback's schedule; while product was being distributed, security was low. They'd been able to count on one hand the number of people in the warehouse, and two had been easily knocked out, one each by Draco and Theo as they entered from the delivery port.

They made their way around the back, only faintly able to hear the commotion they knew was occurring at the front; similar to the space in Gringotts, the unreliable acoustics worked well in their favor, masking noise from their entry and instead reverberating the sound of shots fired from the front. Draco felt a vibration in his pocket and picked up as they crept along the empty back corridor of Greyback's warehouse, seeing Greg's name pop up on the screen.

"Go," Draco said into the phone, keeping his voice low as Theo raised his gun, covering him.

"He's headed for his office," Greg said rapidly. "I'm taking cover in the warehouse, and - "

There was a crash in the background.

"Greg," Draco hissed. "Is everything - "

"He's heading back there," Greg repeated. "Just - cut him off from his supply, and I'll - " another pause, and the sound of shots fired. "I'm good, they're moving - "

"Greg," Draco said again. "If you need one of us - "

"I'm fine, Draco, just get him, okay?" Greg snapped impatiently. "Get him and get out - "

"Yeah, but - "

Two beeps, and the line was dead. Draco shook his head, feeling uneasy.

"This must be it," Draco muttered, gesturing to a door on their right, and Theo nodded, dropping to his knees to pick the lock. "Hurry - "

"Don't fucking rush me, Draco," Theo breathed out impatiently, but then there was a telling click, and they hurriedly pushed inside, shutting the door behind them.

"There," Draco said, pointing to an oak fixture that appeared to be a gun locker of some kind. "Check in there, I'll check the desk drawers - "

Theo nodded, crossing the room, and Draco dug into the desk. "A lot of paperwork for a druglord," he muttered to himself. "Almost makes you think he should have just gone into stocks or something - "

"Draco, it's empty," Theo said in disbelief, looking inside the cabinet fixture. "Is there anywhere else?"

Draco straightened, looking around the room. "No," he said slowly, frowning. "That has to be it."

"Lock's not broken," Theo commented, eyeing it. "But still - "

Draco moved to join him, eyeing the door.

"Someone's already been here," Draco realized, fighting a wave of inexplicable discomfort. "All the shit in here's been moved recently."

"Something's not right," Theo said, frowning. "Is - where's - "

"Could this be a trap?" Draco asked apprehensively. "Greg said they were heading back here for more guns, and this is definitely where they would be kept - "

"No forced entry," Theo added, gesturing to the door. "We did that."

"So then - "

Draco trailed off, confused.

"So he's got nothing," Theo realized. "We'll be able to corner him, two on one, point blank, without ammo," he enumerated darkly, his mouth twitching, and Draco nodded, wondering what they were missing. "I should be thrilled it's so fucking easy, but then - " Theo grimaced, meeting Draco's eye. "Is it just me, or does this whole thing suddenly feel a lot more like murder?"

Draco shook his head, not certain he could conjure words.

"Just - get by the door," Draco said quickly, trying not to think about it. "Greg said he was coming. Get behind it, and - "

They broke off, moving quietly and motioning in silence as they both heard voices coming from outside.

"You go ahead," they heard someone say. _Scabior,_ Draco mouthed, and Theo nodded. "Get the guns. I'll take care of the rogue Death Eater."

"No fucking around, Scabior," Greyback grunted back, his heavy footfall carrying down the corridor. "Either Riddle's completely lost control, or there's more of them coming."

"Trust me, Fenrir," Scabior replied coolly. "I'm not worried."

"Good," Greyback muttered. "Keep the blood off the merchandise," he warned, "but make sure you bleed him dry."

"Got it, boss," Scabior agreed, and Draco heard him head the opposite direction as Greyback inserted the key to the door of his office, pushing it open and striding inside to walk directly to the cabinet behind his desk as Theo nudged the door shut behind him, his gun pointed at the other man's back.

Greyback paused, stiffening, and raised his chin.

"Thought I might find a snake or two in here," he commented, not turning around. "But you know as well as I do that you're not going to shoot me in the back, Death Eater."

Theo and Draco exchanged a look, grimacing.

"Who is it, I wonder?" Greyback mused. "Someone patient enough to wait for me, smart enough to know where I keep my shit. Someone angry enough to chance an exceedingly painful death, I imagine." He paused, chuckling to himself. "One of the juniors, then, I'd wager."

He turned sharply, meeting Theo's eye first, and then Draco's. "Ah," he remarked silkily, flashing them his wolfish grin. " _Both_ the juniors, I see."

"Drop it," Draco said, gesturing to the gun in Greyback's hand. "Kick it over here."

"Pistols, hm?" Greyback commented, letting the gun in his hand fall to the floor before giving it a quick nudge with his foot. "Thought you might be a little more prepared than that, boys."

"I only need one shot, Fenrir," Theo replied, though Draco caught him licking dryness from his lips. "An automatic round just doesn't suit."

"Ostentatious," Draco contributed in agreement, shrugging. "Not our style."

"You Death Eaters and your _code_ ," Greyback spat laughingly. "Might have spared a thought to your fucking morals when you were trying to rip me off, eh?" he prompted, and let the laugh settle to a smirk. "Funny how that works."

"Yes, _hilarious_ how that escalated, isn't it?" Theo retorted. "Fucking _hysterical_ that you somehow didn't expect to find yourself here after you fucking chased us for sport."

"You're messy, Fenrir, and it's going to cost you," Draco added, grimacing in agreement. "You left behind too many casualties in your hunt for Tom."

"Did I?" Greyback purred facetiously, and Draco shook his head, repulsed.

"You know, I'm told I have an ego, but _you_ ," Theo scoffed humorlessly, jutting his chin at Greyback. "Yours puts mine to shame."

"I don't appreciate getting fucked, boys, and if you knew your boss any better, I doubt you'd have those guns pointed at me," Greyback informed them grimly, his scowl evident beneath the coarse darkness of his beard. "I'm just a humble businessman," he told them smoothly, "making certain there's no room for underhanded practices."

"What, like carving a message into an innocent man's chest?" Theo countered roughly. "Or blowing one up, for that matter?"

"That Death Eater's about as innocent as any of you," Greyback snarled back. "If you all choose to live by your mark, then as far as I'm concerned, you're _all_ fucking beholden to it. And as for your dad - " he gave Theo a ruthlessly unapologetic smile. "I do regret," he said slowly, "that I missed my target. I won't next time," he added darkly, "but just in case, you should probably all watch out." He crossed his arms over his chest, his teeth slicing against his lips. "Next time I'll make sure I get Tom, and if I miss - " he shrugged. "I'll be sure nobody in the vicinity makes it out to cause me any more grief."

"There won't be a next time," Draco snapped. "And in case you're forgetting, you missed a couple people in your tally, Fenrir - like a fucking county judge, and an _innocent girl_ that had no part in this - "

"Girl," Greyback scoffed. "What fucking girl?"

"Astoria Greengrass," Draco said, his stomach lurching at the memory of her. "You shot her twice," he muttered through gritted teeth, "and you don't even fucking know her name?"

Greyback looked sharply at him, setting his jaw. "You're fishing in the wrong pond, Malfoy."

"He's lying," Theo said bluntly, and Greyback laughed, shaking his head.

"Son, do I look like the kind of man who has much to gain by _denying_ my sins? I know who I am, and what I've done," Greyback spat. "I fucked with the Death Eater in your shop, I ordered the hit that killed your father, I okayed the hit on the judge. That _girl_ , though," he said pointedly, shaking his head. "That ain't me, brother - but," he added spiritedly, "I assure you I've got my own thoughts about that, if you're interested in what I know."

"Clever stalling tactic, Fenrir," Draco scoffed, scowling. "But if you think for one fucking second that you're going to turn us - "

"Something's stopping you from shooting," Greyback pointed out, cutting Draco off with a wave of his hand. "You've got me, Malfoy," he reminded him, grinning mercilessly. "What's stopping you? Maybe you _want_ me to have a gun," he murmured. "Maybe you think this is unfair, or maybe - " he beckoned, smirking. "Maybe you don't have it in you at all."

"Give me a reason," Theo said sourly, cocking the barrel of his gun. "Go ahead, Fenrir."

"I've given you plenty of reasons," Greyback remarked, running a finger across his bottom lip and then abruptly succumbing to laughter. "You don't fucking _want_ to shoot me," Greyback realized, shaking his head. "You really don't, do you, Nott? And let me guess, _you_ won't," he added, turning to Draco, "because you _can't_ , right? Because Tom gave orders," he mocked nastily, "and it has to be this one, doesn't it?" He gestured to Theo, laughing again. "Ah, you Death Eaters," he chuckled. "You never stop being monumentally fucked, do you? Fine," he muttered, pivoting sharply and turning to his ammunition stores, "if you won't do it - "

"Stop," Theo said, lowering his gun to shoot Greyback in the kneecap and pressing his lips thin as the other man howled in pain, pulling the door open as he staggered to the floor to reveal the empty cabinet. "Don't fucking move, Greyback - "

"You little shit," Greyback muttered, shaking his head as he used the corner of his desk to pull himself upright. "You don't have the balls to kill me," he taunted, dragging himself to his feet. "I applaud you on robbing me first, by the way," he added with a sneer, gesturing to the cabinet, "but it won't matter, as I can see you're going to let me go."

"Stop talking," Theo snarled, but Draco caught the motion of his finger shaking against the trigger. "Stop _moving_ , Greyback, or I swear to god - "

"You know, your kills will never leave you, junior Nott," Greyback taunted, his mouth contorting in pain as he forcefully took a lurching step. "They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts - they'll visit you in your low moments, they'll mock you, and then no high is ever high enough. You'll see them every time you close your eyes," he hissed, "you'll feel them in your lungs when you fucking take a _breath_ \- "

"Shut up," Theo repeated dazedly, his mouth twitching. "You deserve this," he added, though even Draco could tell that was more to himself than to Greyback.

"I do, don't I?" Greyback laughingly agreed, baring his teeth. "I killed your father, and I'm not even sorry. I'm _not even sorry,_ " he ranted manically, "and you still can't pull the trigger, can you?"

Draco glanced at Theo, watching his face turn pale.

"If you can't kill me now," Greyback said, half-whispering, "you never will, Nott."

"Not true," Theo said stonily, his lips forced in a thin grim line. "I told you to shut up, Greyback," he added, and raised his gun, aiming at his forehead. "You can haunt me all you fucking want."

Draco watched Theo's finger tighten on the trigger, felt his breath catch; then he felt time suddenly shift and slow, dragging his mind along in its clutches.

 _Is it this life that destroys us, or were we fucked from the start?_

Draco blinked, watching a spark of something that wasn't Theo enter Theo's eyes, wondering if it would ever leave; wondering if it would stay, an imprint on his soul, to fester in his chest, to begin some slow process of deadness that Draco could already see - like an omen, like a curse, like a phantom in the distance.

 _It's the worst thing, actually seeing what you're capable of -_

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

"No," Draco erupted suddenly, the impact of time returning in a wave and falling over him with a crash, manifesting into a cold chill of certainty that dripped down his shoulders and carried to the muscles of his hand. He turned, taking aim at the barrel of Theo's Glock, and took a single rapid shot.

"Draco, _fuck_ ," Theo gasped, leaping back from the spark of metal on metal and letting the pistol fall from his hand. "What the fuck?"

"Ah, you Death Eaters," Greyback laughed, taking another desperate step to reach for his gun where it lay on the floor. "You're all irreversibly _fucked_ \- "

"Draco," Theo shouted at him, his eyes wide. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Draco kicked the gun out of Greyback's reach, taking aim.

 _If you can live with it on your hands, so can I -_

"I'm taking the power back," he muttered, and then took one shot to the center of Greyback's forehead, the faint etch of the man's last laugh not yet gone from his lips as he collapsed backwards, finally falling still across the floor.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Dedicated to nymphadoraholtzmann!_


	22. Absolution

**Chapter 22: Absolution**

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

"So," Tom said slowly. "You're telling me Greyback is dead?"

"Yes," Draco replied, unflinching. "He's dead."

 _They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts -_

Tom paused, his gaze flicking over the three of them.

"Who killed him?"

 _They'll visit you in your low moments -_

Draco willed the silence not to last.

"I did," Theo said.

 _They'll mock you -_

Draco stared stonily forward, and Tom tilted his head. "How?"

Theo's mouth twitched. "Successfully on the first try."

 _And then no high is ever high enough._

Tom's eyes flashed unpleasantly.

"With," he pronounced slowly, " _what_ , exactly?"

"A gun," Theo said. "My gun."

 _You'll see them every time you close your eyes -_

Tom arched a brow.

"You say it was - " he trailed off. "Painless?"

 _You'll feel them in your lungs when you fucking take a breath -_

Theo shrugged. "The goal was effectiveness," he offered blandly. "He is _effectively_ dead."

"I see," Tom permitted slowly.

 _Is it this life that destroys us, or were we fucked from the start?_

Tom glanced at Greg, who was bent over slightly, nursing a sore abdomen. "And you, Goyle?" he prompted. "You were there?"

Greg shook his head. "No," he muttered. "Scabior gave me a bit of a run around," he added in explanation, at which Draco and Theo both grimaced; a glance at any of the three of them - Greg especially - would show that particular phrasing to be an absurdly inaccurate understatement.

Draco had very much regretted rendering Theo's gun ineffective by the time they'd made it to the warehouse, arriving in time to pluck Greg from a hail of bullets. Scabior, despite his employer's failings, had managed to scrounge up enough heavy artillery to manage a show, and in the end, getting _out -_ particularly once reinforcements had arrived and Greyback's subsequent absence had been more than a little conspicuous - had been far more difficult than getting _in._

Though, somehow, neither task had been quite as uniquely challenging as _this._

Evaluation, as it were.

Judgment day, as Theo called it.

"Some aspirin would be fucking peachy," Greg remarked.

"I'm sure it would," Tom agreed, and then turned to Draco. "Surely you were there when it happened," he murmured neutrally, meeting Draco's eye. "After all, I would not expect you to leave Theodore's side in such a moment of crisis."

 _If you can't kill me now, you never will -_

 _You can haunt me all you fucking want -_

Draco cleared his throat, shaking himself of the memory and nodding. "I was there," he confirmed. "Theo took the shot. One shot, just like he said," he repeated, latching onto truth. "Greyback was defenseless the moment he entered the room." He paused, remembering. "His ammo had already been cleared out," Draco added quickly, but by that point, Tom no longer appeared to be listening; his gaze had already traveled vacantly back to Theo.

"I see," Tom said again, to nobody in particular. "It seems you all had a very fruitful trip to Knockturn, then," he commented, tapping his fingers against his mouth. "Tell me," he ventured coolly, "how does it feel, Theodore? Do you consider yourself - " he trailed off, delicately toying with silence. "Absolved?"

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

Draco and Theo surreptitiously exchanged sidelong glances.

"It's what had to be done," Theo said in answer, shrugging once. "We all knew it wouldn't end without his body on the floor. Or yours," he reminded Tom, with a carelessness that Draco found immediately inadvisable. "So, naturally, this was the best-case scenario," Theo concluded, lifting his chin.

At that, Draco fought not to flinch. The attitude was quintessential Theo, but it was impossible to forget that Theo had done a fundamentally poor job resembling himself in the weeks following his father's death. The buoyancy of his response, however in character, felt very untimely, and wholly wrong.

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

"That's how you feel?" Tom prompted, his tone ripe with skepticism. "You killed the man who is responsible for the death of your father," he said slowly, "and you feel the experience amounts to 'best-case scenario,' Theodore?"

Draco swallowed uncomfortably.

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

He forced himself to focus, catching Theo's wince at the continued overuse of his given name - his _father's_ name, Draco knew, and one that Theo himself hated to use - and feeling somehow certain that the repetition was coldly intentional.

"Theodore," Tom said again; with a marked deliberation, as though he were driving the tip of a knife into the marrow of Theo's bones. "Are you absolved?" he repeated, leaning forward in his seat.

 _They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts -_

Theo hesitated, not fully ignorant to the test being administered, but held Tom's gaze. "Yes," he confirmed, not looking away.

The cadence was off; there was something strange about the synchronicity - the conspicuous ease of conversation - and Draco had to force himself not to openly grimace. However dangerous Tom Riddle was or wasn't, his proficiency at reading a situation - at charting intentions, and in particular, sensing falsehoods - was unquestionably astute, and it was no comforting thing to watch the corners of his mouth twitch dubiously at Theo's unabashed certainty.

 _They'll visit you in your low moments -_

Draco shifted, a dull percussive pattern knocking faintly at his temples.

 _They'll mock you -_

"Are we done here?" Draco interrupted, prompting Tom to slowly shift his gaze away from Theo. "Blood spatter's not a great look for me," he remarked drily, gesturing to the drops of crimson on his shirt.

Greg made a huffing sound of agreement. "Again," he reminded them, still pressing a hand beneath his ribs. "Aspirin would be ideal."

Tom paused a moment, eyeing them, and then smacked his palm definitively against the table, startling all three of them as he rose abruptly to his feet.

"Yes," he declared, nodding firmly. "We are very much done here. I'll inform the others in the morning. In the meantime, perhaps you should celebrate," he added slyly, nodding to Theo. "Your service to the club has been invaluable, and your father - " he paused, his smile harsh and daunting. "Your father would be proud."

Theo's mask of confidence faltered. "He would," he agreed, and Draco frowned, seeing the poison-tipped effect of the words as they manifested in a pained line across Theo's mouth.

"Well, you can certainly regale us all tomorrow," Tom remarked, checking his watch. "Or later today, as is more accurate." He strode forward to the doors of the boardroom, pausing abruptly just as he moved to pass Greg.

"The pain," Tom murmured, glancing askance. "How bad is it?"

Greg grunted something incoherent, shrugging. "I'm fine."

"Good," Tom ruled, nodding once. "I'm relieved the experience wasn't worse. If anything had happened," he added, turning just enough to catch Draco's eye, "I would have hated to have it on my conscience."

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

Tom was gone from the room without further comment, leaving the others to gradually exhale the tension that had collectively crept into their lungs.

"That fucker is _weird_ ," Greg remarked flatly, shaking his head as he turned to Theo and Draco. "Thanks, by the way," he added, and Draco frowned.

"For what?" Draco asked.

"Permitting you the chance to be shot at?" Theo drawled. "Our pleasure."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Look," he said brusquely, "I know you two work alone. You're this weird little - " he waved a hand, shrugging. "Whatever you two are - "

"Yes," Theo quipped. "We agree."

Draco flashed him a silencing glare, though Greg seemed willing to overlook the interaction.

"- and anyway, I'm just - I just wanted to _do_ something," Greg continued. "I feel helpless, you know? Fucking - _useless_. I couldn't help Susan, and I - " he trailed off, grimacing. "I just wanted a fucking trigger in my hand for once," he concluded, his voice dropping as he stared at his feet. "For _once_."

 _I'm taking the power back -_

"Yeah," Draco said, surprised by how much the statement resonated, even coming from Goyle. "We get it." Theo glanced at him, questioning, and he straightened, not wanting to get into it. "Anyway," Draco continued. "You going to see her?"

"Who? Susan?" Greg asked, and Draco nodded. "Nah," he muttered, somewhat regretfully. "It's late, and she's probably with McLaggen - "

"Are they still together?" Theo cut in, making a face. "I thought she came to you when her aunt died."

"Well, she did," Greg admitted, mumbling to himself. "But still, that doesn't mean - "

"I think it means _something_ ," Draco interrupted, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Theo. "I'm no expert, but I'd call it somewhat fucking relevant, wouldn't you?"

"And hey, we applaud you for being a gentleman," Theo contributed, "but - "

"Somebody's got to nurse the wounds," Draco pointed out languidly, gesturing to Greg's bloodied torso. "Seems to me like Susan wouldn't mind."

Greg rolled his eyes, dismissing them both with a flick of his wrist as he turned to leave the room. "You two are shitty," he called over his shoulder. "You're bad influences."

"We know," Theo retorted. "Be sure to tell Bones we say hello," he added.

"Fuck off," Greg growled instantly, but he pulled out his phone as he walked, shaking his head and dialing what could only have been Susan Bones' phone number before disappearing through the Manor's double doors.

"Well," Draco sighed, watching him go.

"Well," Theo agreed.

They glanced at each other.

For a moment, they sat in silence, marinating in what neither felt capable of saying; then Theo shifted towards the door, looking questioningly at Draco, and Draco nodded, following him. The steps out front were silent as well, and for a moment Draco thought they weren't going to speak at all until Theo turned to him, his helmet in his hands.

"Why?" he finally asked.

Draco closed his eyes, unwillingly returning to the moment for the countless time that night; to the gun in his hand, and the shadow on Theo's face. To the twitch of Greyback's shoulders before he had fallen still, almost like whatever piece of him that remained - his soul, or his _being_ , or something else unfailing and eternal that Draco had never much bothered to put stock in until he'd seen it, gutted, dissipating like smoke between his hands - had fought back for just a moment. Just long enough to make Draco's innards seize with dread, with fear, with awe; with _pain._

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

 _You'll see them every time you close your eyes -_

 _You'll feel them in your lungs when you fucking take a breath -_

"Maybe this life destroys us," Draco replied, feeling a sudden rush of something horribly primal; something that roared, fidgeted, coiled - a burst of adrenaline itching to get out. "Maybe you're right, and maybe someday it will." He cleared his throat, catching sight of the blood spatter draped across his knuckles. "But I wasn't going to let it destroy you if I could help it," he finished gruffly, staring at his hands.

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

"I could have done it," Theo told him. "Greyback was wrong, I would have done it - "

"Yes, you would have," Draco agreed. " _I_ know you would have, and even if _you_ didn't - " he grimaced. "I would rather have you wonder about that than watch you spend your life wishing you hadn't."

 _They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts -_

"Was it your call, though, Draco?" Theo asked. "Do you feel _that_ responsible for me? That you could - that you _should_ ," he corrected sharply, "make that decision for me?"

"Yes," Draco spat firmly. " _Yes_. Wouldn't you have done the same for me?" he protested. "If you had looked me in the eye and known I would never have been the same after I took the shot, wouldn't you have done the same fucking thing?"

 _They'll visit you in your low moments -_

Theo swallowed, saying nothing.

 _They'll mock you -_

"Wouldn't you?" Draco demanded, reaching out to grab his shoulder. "Isn't this exactly what you would have done for me?"

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

"Yes," Theo growled, shoving him away. "Yes, fucking - _yes,_ okay? I'd have done the same for you." He shifted, looking displeased with his own admission. "But it doesn't matter, because that's not the _point_ , Draco - "

"What's the point, then?" Draco snapped. "As far as I can see, Theo, I picked the best of my shitty options, so tell me what I'm fucking missing here - "

"What you're missing?" Theo echoed. "You're _missing_ the fact that Tom _fucking_ Riddle - " he stopped, lowering his voice and waving a hand towards the Manor. "That Tom doesn't _believe me_ ," he hissed. "That whatever bizarre motivation he had for wanting me to do this, it clearly _isn't satisfied -_ "

"He wanted to trap you," Draco supplied gruffly. "Having you take the shot wasn't to prove your loyalty - it was just a flex of his power, his control. It was a _test -_ "

"Of course it was a fucking test," Theo spat, interrupting. "But are you positive it was _me_ he was testing?"

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

Draco blinked.

"No," he realized.

"So," Theo pressed, "it's possible that we both failed, then?"

Draco gave an involuntary shudder, the ground below him seeming to tilt slightly.

 _Is it this life that destroys us, or were we fucked from the start?_

Seconds ticked by in silence, and then realization suddenly dawned.

"We did fail," Draco said flatly, abruptly certain of it. "We _both_ failed, and Tom was right," he added. "If tonight had happened as it was supposed to, your father would have been proud."

Theo glanced up sharply, his face darkening at the reminder, but Draco held up a hand, silencing him. "Your father would have taken the shot," he explained quickly. "So would my father. But they would have taken it for themselves," he clarified. "To fill some phantom void, or some selfish need to be cruel, or to just outlast an opponent. _They'd_ have done it just to win a petty turf war," he said, glancing over to meet Theo's green eyes.

"But I did it for you," Draco reminded him. "And you'd have done it for me - so we both fail," he concluded, releasing the words into the night air with a shrug.

It took a moment; he waited, letting his intent settle in.

Then Theo let out a breath, seeming to understand.

"We're not them," he exhaled slowly, and Draco nodded.

"We're not them," he agreed, "so we failed - but fuck it," he added. "Right?"

Theo let out a gruff, humorless chuckle. "Fuck it," he confirmed.

 _Is it this life that destroys us?_

"We were fucked from the start," Draco muttered under his breath, and beside him, Theo started to laugh.

* * *

"Ah, are you here for my sponge bath?" Gilderoy said cheerfully. "Because that would be stupendous."

"Regrettably, I am not," Hermione informed him with a sigh, smearing exhaustion from the creases of her eyelids. "I'm actually just checking on Mr Wood, here," she said, gesturing to the sleeping patient in the next bed, "but there's no need to wake him, so if you could just - "

"What's wrong with him?" Gilderoy interrupted. "Bees?"

"Bees?" Hermione echoed, puzzled.

"Bees," Gilderoy agreed. "Was it bees?"

"No, it was a concussion from a cycling crash," Hermione informed him, "but good guess, I suppose."

Gilderoy shrugged, never one to be easily defeated.

"Do you want to hear a joke?" he suggested.

"Is it about my breasts?" Hermione asked. "Because if so, not especially."

"There's nothing funny about your breasts," Gilderoy informed her, with a solemnity that Hermione found mildly worrisome. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," Hermione agreed, covering a yawn. "Go for it."

Gilderoy sat up, clearing his throat. "Is it just me," he began, sweeping his arm out to address an imaginary audience, "or are circles pointless?"

Hermione, despite what she had always considered her sophisticated intellect, had to smother a laugh. "Pointless," she repeated. "Because circles are literally without points?"

"Right?" Gilderoy declared, giddily enthused as she produced another hiccup of exhausted laughter. "Wordplay!"

"Are you two quite finished?" Oliver Wood asked groggily, stirring in the next bed. "I'm sort of trying to _sleep,_ here - "

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr Wood," Hermione said quickly, aghast, and flashed Gilderoy a sheepish look of horror before moving to Oliver's bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I fell off my bike," he grumbled, shifting slightly to accommodate his injured clavicle. "So I'm guessing that's to be expected."

"Well, your speech sounds fine," Hermione assured him, glancing at his eye movement. "Any nausea? Ringing in your ears?"

"Just the sound of truly terrible comedy," Oliver replied, sparing a glare at Gilderoy, who pointedly stared at the ceiling. "This isn't my first time being kept overnight for observation, you know," Oliver added to Hermione. "I don't really need you to hover quite so closely. The team doctors will be by in the morning."

"Oh, of course," Hermione assured him. "I was just stopping by, Mr Wood, but I'll just let you get back to - "

"I'm reading a book about anti-gravity," Gilderoy announced, interrupting. He waited until Hermione and Oliver both turned to look at him, and then he raised his chin smugly. "It's impossible to put down," he finished, looking immeasurably pleased.

Hermione forced herself to choke down a giggle, hiding the motion behind her hand; Oliver, for his part, rolled his eyes, but spared a somewhat unwilling smile.

"Anti-gravity," he muttered, pulling at his mouth. "Funny."

"Wordplay," Gilderoy declared in reply, passing him a formal salute.

"Well," Hermione ventured, shaking her head, "I'll let you both get to sleep." She made a quick note on Oliver's chart and then turned to slip out of the room. "No more jokes, Gilderoy," she warned, nudging the door shut behind her.

"I think I'm emotionally constipated," he called back brightly. "I haven't given a shit for days."

"Okay, _that_ one I'm tucking away for later," Hermione heard Oliver comment, and as the door settled into the latch, she tucked a yawn into her palm, chuckling under her breath.

She turned to exit the corridor, finally wrapping up her shift. It had been a long day - _so_ long, in fact, that it was difficult to believe that it had only been a matter of hours since she'd spoken to both Tom and Draco - and she was more than ready to go home.

She took the stairs down to the first floor and then stopped, catching sight of a familiar glimpse of tattoos and leather. She paused, blinking, and then registered that it wasn't anyone she had ever seen before, despite recognizing the skull-and-snake design on the man's wrist. The man - the Death Eater - was slightly younger than Tom, quite a bit older than Draco, and far stockier than either of them, his hair a dirty blond that was slicked back from his face.

"Excuse me," she ventured, suddenly made nervous by the combination of his appearance and Draco's ominous discussion of forgiveness from earlier that afternoon. "Sorry for bothering you, but are you here for someone in particular?"

He cocked his head, smirking slightly. "Just visiting," he supplied innocently, and Hermione, who found the answer disconcerting, did her best to hide her expression of bemusement.

"Sure," she agreed. "Sorry," she added, feeling awkward. "I just thought something might have happened - "

"To who, darlin'?" he asked, arching a brow in challenge.

Hermione remembered, suddenly - _too late_ , she thought with a grimace - that Harry and Ron had warned her several times about the Death Eaters, and felt a bristle of warning at the slightly predatory look on the man's face.

"Oh, um - nobody," she forced out hastily, furious at whatever episode of carelessness had possessed her to stop. "Sorry, I'm just - long day," she babbled. "Have to run - "

"Bye, then," the Death Eater said, grinning as he waved to her rapidly retreating back. "Have a good night, Dr Granger," he called after her.

She came to a sudden halt, startled to hear her name; she _nearly_ pivoted, _almost_ asked questions, but then remembered that her name was stitched onto her lab coat, or that perhaps they had simply met before.

"Good night," she replied over her shoulder, and then she half-sprinted to her locker, quite certain she was desperately in need of sleep.

Hermione made her way to the parking lot, checking over her shoulder - it was the sort of uninterrupted quiet that was specific to the middle of the night, thick both with promise and with threats - and nearly stopped breathing when she noticed someone was waiting for her by her car, leant up against his bike.

"Hi," Draco said. She let out out a sigh of relief, holding her hand to her chest.

"Scared me," she exhaled, and then spared a more scrutinizing glance, stepping in close to observe him beneath the dim light of the parking lot. "Well," she commented, checking over her shoulder to be certain nobody was watching before taking his chin in her hand, glancing over his face. "You've looked worse," she murmured, half-smiling. "Blood," she noted, touching the splash of it on his chest. "But I'm sure I have some on me, too," she conceded, half-joking.

Draco didn't laugh. Instead, he met her gaze, stony and firm.

"Did you mean it?" he asked. "What you said?"

She blinked. "That I would still be here?"

He nodded. "That if I could live with it on my hands," he murmured, "you could, too." He swallowed, searching her face for confirmation. "Did you mean that?"

She felt her pulse quicken, sprinting through her veins.

"Did somebody die tonight?" she asked, and he nodded slowly. "Did - " she broke off, clearing her throat. "Did you do it?"

This time, when she asked it, his expression didn't change.

"Yes," he said, the pale line of his jaw stark against near-darkness as he set it firmly, waiting for an answer. "I did it. And it was the right thing. It was the _right thing_ ," he repeated, getting to his feet, "and every time I replay it in my mind, I would do it the same way - I swear, I would do it again," he ranted, " _exactly_ the same fucking way, because it was the _right thing,_ and - "

Her feet had moved without her mind's permission, her thought process lagging even as her hands had grabbed the sides of his face; her lips found his out of instinct, reflex, impulse-turned-inevitable, sealing them together like two halves of a whole.

"Yes," she said, the word escaping raggedly into his mouth. " _Yes_ ," she said again, bearing down on the back of his neck as if that could make the promise more real; as if pain could make it better, could make it _surer_ , as if the pressure on his spine could convince him of the truth. "I meant it," she whispered. "I meant it."

He raised a hand to her cheek, staring at her, and then he kissed her again, his lips throbbing insistently against hers. "I killed someone tonight," he muttered, sending a violent shudder down her spine, "and all I can think about - all I can _fucking_ think about is _this_ \- " he pulled her hips flush against his, his fingers coiling tightly in her belt loops. "All I can think about is _you_ \- the way you look, the way you taste, the way you fucking - " she gasped, his hands shifting to yank at the waistband at her jeans. "The way you _feel -_ "

His fingers crept up, slipping greedily to her waist, and then he yanked her against him as he kissed her again, hungry and achingly desperate. "Come home with me," he told her, his voice scratchy and rough in her ear.

"Home with you?" she echoed, dizzied. "But - "

She broke off as he kissed her forcefully, bearing down with his teeth this time as he slid his fingers under her shirt; his touch was shameless, brazen, _unapologetic_ , and she gasped as he dug into the bare skin of her abdomen.

"Get on the bike," he told her, and it was decisive; not a question. "Let's go."

"Draco," she said, struggling to speak as he kissed her again, licking a drop of blood from her lips. He reached up, his fingers wrapping tightly in her ponytail and guiding her head back to bare the column of her throat, brushing his lips against it before pulling gruffly away.

"Get on the bike," he said again, handing her his helmet.

She let out a captive breath and took it from him, straddling him from behind and leaning forward to take in the smell of night air and leather and _him;_ to feel the bike roar to life beneath her as the muscles of his back shifted against her chest.

"Let's go," she said in his ear, pressing her lips to the comforting thud of his pulse.

* * *

Gratifyingly, it was Fleur who opened the door to her apartment. Theo wasn't sure he was quite up for dealing with Cedric at the moment, and seeing her face - even with its expression of lofty disapproval, which was still somehow just as maddeningly beautiful as all her other faces - was enough to confirm the suspicion that he couldn't have waited any longer.

"Hi," he attempted, and she raised an eyebrow. "You ordered a bottle of prosecco?" he asked hopefully, lofting the liquor store bag in the air between them. "Can't say it's great service, but I won't push for a tip."

A hint of amusement pulled at the corners of her mouth, but she was far too skilled to let that betray her.

"Well," Fleur began, leaning casually against the frame, "when I said I was available tonight, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"I know," Theo agreed, pulling the bottle from the bag and holding it out to her. "But there's a reason behind me catastrophically letting you down, if you're up for hearing it."

She eyed him for a minute, considering the offer, and then took the bottle from his hand, gesturing inside. "Come on," she said, and he exhaled gratefully, following her into the kitchen.

"So," she said, grabbing two glasses out of a cabinet and setting them down on the counter. "What are we drinking to?"

"To you?" he suggested, and she glanced skeptically at him. "Well, certainly not to me," he assured her hastily.

"No, it would appear not," she agreed, grabbing a dishtowel and wrenching the stopper from the bottle, popping the cork loose. "Care to try again?"

She wasn't looking at him; it struck him as problematic.

"Fleur," he sighed. "Listen, I just - I want to explain - "

She shifted away from him and poured a glass, letting the prosecco's pressurized foam rise up over the lip of the glass and then parabolically deflate, settling to a manageable level of fizz.

"To life?" she suggested, not looking over her shoulder.

He stared at the back of her neck, wondering if this was what she looked like when she was angry, or if perhaps he had done something worse; like hurt her, for example, or disappoint her, which he could tell with a wrench in his gut would utterly wreck him. Finding himself bereft at the possibility, he opted for artlessly forging ahead.

"I thought I was going to die today," he said. "Or kill someone. Either way," he continued, "I thought that by the end of the day I'd be someone who couldn't look you in the eye. Who couldn't, or _wouldn't,_ " he corrected, "be capable of doing the right thing. Of making the right choice. I thought I'd end the day turning out exactly like my father," he muttered, half-laughing, "but that's something for another time, and potentially a professional, so - "

He trailed off, taking a deep breath; he was still speaking mostly to the rigid line of her spine, which hadn't much changed as he'd spoken.

"I didn't kill anyone," he ventured optimistically. "And I'm still alive, as you can see, so - " He cleared his throat. "Despite the possibility that I've let you down one time too many, if you need something to drink to, then yes - to life, I guess."

She looked up, considering something, and then turned over her shoulder, facing him.

"Why on earth," she said slowly, "would you think that you'd let me down?"

"I - " he withered. "I'm not totally sure."

"What exactly do you think I want, Theo?" she asked, handing him a glass as she raised hers to her lips. "Enlighten me."

"Someone better," he admitted reflexively, dropping his gaze to the glass in his hand. "Or at least someone less thoroughly fucked - "

"Drink," she interrupted, and he frowned, but complied, taking a sip. "Stop talking."

"Okay," he mumbled gratefully, letting the prosecco settle on his tongue.

"You know what I like about you?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Your dick," she supplied flatly, and he choked. "You know what else?"

"Tell me," he forced out, coughing, and she smirked.

"I like that you don't hide from me," she informed him. "You showed up in my warehouse an utter flailing lunatic and you've never stopped being one since. I like it," she admitted, taking a delicate sip from her glass. "Makes me feel like I know what I'm getting, and I like that. I like what I see," she told him emphatically, taking a step towards him, "and I look forward to everything else I haven't witnessed yet, which I'm sure is just as unhinged."

Theo felt his brow furrow. "So, then - "

"We're criminals, Theo," she reminded him. "However fucked you are, I'm that, just dolled up in more expensive lingerie. If you'd told me you had to kill someone tonight," she added, "I'd have packed you dinner and made sure you had extra bullets in your Glock." She paused, half smirking. "There'd be no question of whether you'd die, either," she informed him sternly, her lip brushing the edge of her glass, "because I don't fuck with men who miss their shots."

He smiled weakly. "I wouldn't have missed," he assured her. "But - "

He trailed off, and she eyed him, waiting. "What is it?"

"I just - I didn't want to kill him," he admitted. "I thought I could, or thought I did, but when it came down to it I was - I was _relieved_ , honestly, that I didn't have to. Draco," he offered in explanation, and she nodded knowingly. "Draco took the shot for me, and I was - " he wilted. "I was relieved."

She seemed to read the shame on his face, permitting a moment to pass in silence.

"So your soul's intact, then," Fleur commented. "We could have drunk to that," she said, gesturing pointedly her glass.

"Do you believe that?" he asked. "The soul shit?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I believe," she replied. "Only matters what you can live with."

He sighed, shaking his head. "But you'd have taken the shot," he pointed out. "No hesitation."

"Was it necessary?" she asked, considering it, and he nodded. "Then yes, most likely."

"Thanks," he muttered, making a face, but she reached out, silencing him with a finger to his lips.

"Do you think that I need you to be ruthless?" she asked. "That I need you to be violent, just because I am? Just because the life we both chose calls for it?"

He didn't answer.

"A tough choice doesn't always amount to a trigger pull," she informed him brusquely. "It's just a finger," she added, shrugging. "If that was the only strength that mattered, you wouldn't be half as fun to look at."

"You're downplaying it," he murmured, and she shook her head.

"I'm not," she retorted. "You're my man," she informed him, as though that summarized everything neatly; as though three words, even three as revolutionary as those, were reason enough on their own. "You walk in here and tell me you killed three dozen men, fine," she ruled. "You tell me you set a terrorist free? Done," she sniffed. "So long as you come back here when it's over and you stand by what you've done, I'll stand with you."

"Because I'm your man?" he asked, semi-disbelieving, and she solemnly eased the drink from his hand, setting both glasses aside.

"Because you're my man," she confirmed matter-of-factly, stepping within the circle of his arms and letting him maneuver her back against the counter, lifting her chin as he lowered his lips to hers.

"How," he said, brushing his lips against hers, "did I even manage to find you?"

"Well, we're both miscreants of sorts," she reminded him, nipping playfully at his lip. "We swim in the same murky underbelly," she murmured, sliding her hand down his abdomen to tease her fingers along the band of his jeans.

He made an incoherent grunt of agreement into her mouth and then lifted her onto the counter, kissing her neck and collarbone and then promptly groaning as his phone rang, buzzing noisily in his pocket.

"If that's Draco," Fleur began furiously, but Theo shook his head, eyeing the unfamiliar number.

"It isn't," he said, "but just give me one minute - hello?" he said into the phone, uncertain who would be calling at that hour.

"Theo," a female voice said, sounding relieved. "Theo, something's happened - I tried Draco first on Greg's cell but he's not answering his phone, and I just - I'm not sure who to call - "

"Susan?" Theo asked, frowning. Fleur leaned down, biting his earlobe, and he offered her an apologetic glance, wrapping a wave of her long blonde hair around his finger as it spilled from her shoulder to his. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, it's Susan, I just - Greg's unconscious," she said nervously. "He just collapsed, and I don't - I don't know what's wrong, but I called the ambulance, and - " she cut off for a moment. "Theo, they're here now, but I just wanted to let you know. They're taking him to St Mungo's now, so if you - I don't know, if you could meet me there - "

"Yeah, sure, of course," Theo assured her quickly, frowning. "He was fine when I saw him - "

"I don't know what happened," Susan admitted, sounding anxious. "He was fine one minute, and then he just - " she broke off again. "Sorry, Theo, I have to go - I have to get in the ambulance now, so if you could just - "

"Yeah, I'll let the guys know. Thanks, Bones," he said, and she made an indistinct noise of agreement before hanging up, leaving him to glance hesitantly up at Fleur.

"Well," she sighed, hopping down from the counter. "Where are we going?"

"We?" he asked.

"Yes, _we,_ " she sniffed. "I want to see what all the fuss is about."

Theo pulled her into his chest, chuckling as he pressed his lips to the side of her neck. "We just have to go find Draco," he said. "And then - "

"And then you can make it up to me," she assured him, smacking his rear and picking up her keys from the counter. "Uninterrupted, for several hours," she added over her shoulder, and despite himself, Theo smiled.

"You're my woman, Fleur," he informed her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

She made a face, coming to a sudden halt. "Don't call me that," she warned, brandishing her keys in his face. "And we're clear on the terms, aren't we?"

"Uninterrupted," he promised, "for several hours."

"Glad we understand each other," she confirmed, nodding with satisfaction.

* * *

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

"What can I do?" Hermione whispered, her nails scraping his stomach as she guided his shirt over his head. "What do you want me to do?"

Draco's hands shifted, returning to circle her waist.

 _They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts -_

"I want you," he began, "to cure me. To absolve me," he murmured, bending his lips to her shoulder as his hands slipped down to her hips, peeling back the button of her jeans and then slowly - _painstakingly_ \- guiding the zipper down, down, down, making each notch of distance a quiet meditation, each one a breath closer to the vindication of skin on skin. "I want you to be my penance," he told her, feeling the bones of her hips shift under his touch, the softness of her skin pebbling intoxicatingly under his fingers.

"That," Hermione said, gasping as he slid the flat of his hand roughly under the material of her underwear, "might be blasphemous, Draco Malfoy - "

 _They'll visit you in your low moments -_

He turned her around, pinning her shoulders against his chest with one arm as he shoved his hand back into her underwear, shifting her legs apart to bury two fingers inside her, biting down on the back of her neck as a moan slipped out between her lips. "Good," he growled in her ear, replacing his lips with his teeth and then rubbing his hand against her, the motion needy and carnal and urgently lacking in shame as he ground against her, and she moved against him.

 _They'll mock you -_

"I want you to save me," he whispered into the crook of her neck. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, his left hand slipping under her shirt and peeling back the cup of her bra, drawing his thumb over the hardened bead of her nipple.

"You don't need to be saved," she choked out, fumbling behind her to slide her hand down against his abs, pulling at the buttons of his jeans and letting out a whimper as he quickened the motion of his hand against her clit. "Whatever you've done - whatever you had to do - "

 _And then no high is ever high enough -_

He suddenly withdrew his hand, yanking the shirt over her head and tearing her bra from her, tossing it onto the floor and undertaking a series of unsteady strides to back her flat against the wall. "Say it again," he said, peeling her jeans from her legs and then bending to slip them over her feet, looking up at her. "Again," he said desperately, " _please -_ "

 _You'll see them every time you close your eyes -_

"You don't need to be saved," she whispered, and then gasped as he frantically lifted her legs over his hips, his cock pressing into her thigh. She leaned forward, snatching a kiss from his lips and then biting down as he shifted one arm to pull her chest against his, his free hand slipping against the slickness at her cunt. He circled his thumb against her, catching her moan in his mouth, and then adjusted her in his arms to slide his cock inside her, thrusting up and back until she slammed against the wall.

"Draco," she said, the name escaping in a gasp as he choked on a strangled groan. "Draco, whatever you did, I forgive you, just - take what you need," she murmured. "Whatever you want from me," she panted, her fingers pulling roughly at the roots of his hair, "just _take it -_ "

 _You'll feel them in your lungs when you fucking take a breath -_

He fucked her with the kind of yearning he'd never let himself feel before, determined to bury himself in her; to cease to exist in her arms. He looked up at her face, at the way her hair clung to the flush in her cheeks and convinced himself, awash in her fucking perfection, that she, pure as she was - so fucking goddamn _fucking pure_ \- was the truest thing he believed in. It was hard and frantic, erratic and graceless, but he held her in his arms like she was precious, like she was fleeting, like separation was inevitable and still he would _fight it_ , would sink his teeth into skin and bone just to _keep her_ , to crawl home to her, to hold her close, to bind her heart with his.

Her fingers dug into his back and he hoped she drew blood, hoped he'd bleed for her; hoped that she was taking something from him as selfishly as he took from her, that she stole as tirelessly as she gave -

 _You know, your kills will never leave you -_

"Draco," she gasped, his name tearing from her gritted teeth as she threw her head back, and he licked the salt from her skin.

 _If you can live with it on your hands, so can I -_

"Hermione," he rasped - a benediction, _absolution_ \- and let his forehead fall against hers.

 _You can haunt me all you fucking want._

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _dedicated to ZeroImagination!_


	23. Make Your Peace

**Chapter 23: Make Your Peace**

"Draco," Theo called, knocking twice before unlocking the door and motioning with a quick jut of his chin for Fleur to follow. "Get your ass out here, you fuckstick - "

He stopped abruptly, blinking, as he registered the clothes strewn on the floor.

"Hey," Fleur said, running into his back and stumbling. "What are you - " she stopped, her eyes widening as she noticed the discarded garments, and then promptly narrowing disdainfully as she considered their implications. "That little shit," she declared. "I _swear -_ "

There was a motion from the kitchen and then Draco turned the corner, shirtless and thoroughly mussed, his hair swept rigorously back from his face in what Theo unfortunately knew to be its most coitally suggestive iteration.

"Well," Draco ventured uneasily, glancing over his shoulder. "This is - "

"Where is she?" Theo demanded, tearing through the living room and leaping over the couch to turn the corner. "And _who_ is sh-"

He broke off, meeting the eye of the doctor who'd operated on Mulciber.

"No," Theo said flatly, shaking his head as her cheeks flushed scarlet, perched on the counter in one of Draco's t-shirts with a plate of scrambled eggs balanced somewhat precariously on her lap. "Are you," he sputtered, "is this - "

"Hungry?" Draco asked weakly, and Fleur brushed past them both, picking up the doctor's fork and promptly helping herself to a bite.

"So," Fleur said, nodding once in approval of the eggs before handing the fork back to the doctor, "this is why you're not answering your phone, then, is it?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Theo held up a hand.

"Hold on," he snapped, glaring between Draco and the doctor, whose name - Granmer? Gretser? - was inconveniently escaping him. "This," he said, accusatorily brandishing a finger between them. "How long has this been going on?"

"Um," the doctor said, her eyes darting to Draco's. "Well - "

Draco cleared his throat, his hand twitching towards the scar on his left shoulder. "Look," he sighed. "We were just - "

"Wait a minute," Theo said, staring, and then let his mouth fall open, registering the cause for Draco's involuntary motion towards the wound. "This is - you've been - " he grimaced and drew back, affronted. "You know what? _Fuck you,_ Draco," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as the doctor blinked, astonished.

"Excuse me?" Draco snapped, and Theo glared at him.

" _This_ ," he said, gesturing to her and throwing his hands up. "This is how you got your shoulder stitched up after Greyback shot you?" he demanded brusquely. "This whole time, _this_ is who you were - "

"You were shot?" Fleur interrupted, seemingly unaffected by the doctor's apprehensive sidelong glance as she leaned against the counter, casually brushing up against the other woman's leg. "Were you cockblocking him, then, too?"

"What do you mean _too_?" Draco snapped, glowering at her. "I wasn- "

He stopped, catching Theo's combatively widened stance, and reluctantly recoiled, appearing to recall his priorities. "Yes - _fine_ ," he muttered to Theo, though he did not look nearly chagrined enough for Theo's tastes. "You're - you're right."

Draco paused, glancing experimentally at the doctor. She gave him a hesitant shrug - sort of 'what can you do' motion that seemed to serve the purpose of re-inflating Draco's lungs, soothing him, _as though he'd done nothing wrong_ \- and for whatever reason, Theo promptly felt the urge to make a mess.

"Oh, fuck you _entirely,_ " Theo half-shouted at him, abruptly startling the doctor into dropping her fork against her plate with a loud, disruptive clatter. "So you'll die for me, Draco, but you won't tell me who you're sleeping with?"

At that, Draco's grimace bore at least a hint of shame. "I was trying to keep you both safe," he insisted stubbornly, and Theo grunted at that, shaking his head in disbelief. "I guess we just didn- _wait_ , what is this?" Draco snapped, cutting himself off and reaching over to swat Fleur's hand away as she surreptitiously reached for the doctor's bagel. "And look," he continued, turning back to Theo, "why are the two of you even he- _stop it_ ," he warned sharply, catching Fleur a second time and prompting her to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes.

"Fleur, by the way," she offered to the doctor, who looked more than a little dazed at the introduction. "Delacour, although don't tell the IRS."

"Hermione," the doctor replied, looking torn. "Granger."

"Fuck, _Granger_ , that's it," Theo growled, remembering, and then shook his head fiercely before turning to Draco. "I didn't even know her _name_ ," he told him, half-heartedly aiming a fist into Draco's intestines and barely conjuring the effort to scowl as Draco dodged him. "I knew it was someone, and I knew it was someone entirely fucking inadvisable, but _this -_ "

"Hermione, Theo," Draco said, gesturing, one hand protectively covering his abdomen. "Theo, Hermione. You've met before, but - "

"But it was a consummate lie, and you are now and forever suspect," Theo told him sharply, though he reached out to grab Hermione's hand. "Theo," he offered brusquely, permitting her somewhat of a roguish bow. "Irrelevant friend, only minimally important - "

"Why," Draco sighed exasperatedly, shoving him away, "are you here? It's _late_ ," he informed them, fully unnecessarily. "Hermione has work in the morning."

"Oh, shove it," Fleur said tartly, and Theo glared at him in agreement. "You've clearly been ignoring your phone. Which," she added, turning to speak to Hermione, "in our line of work is what's professionally referred to as a 'no-no' of sorts - "

"Your line of work?" Hermione echoed, confused. "You're a Death Eater?"

"Oh no, I'm an accountant," Fleur said, shrugging, and Hermione frowned.

"But that's not - "

"It's Greg," Theo cut in, turning to Draco. "Susan called me. He's unconscious and they've taken him to St Mungo's."

"What?" Draco asked, stunned. "But - he was fine - "

"Is that why that Death Eater was there?" Hermione asked, looking oddly reassured. "Thank god. I know I was being paranoid," she added, shaking her head, "but still - "

"A little bit of an odd reaction to be so relieved," Theo remarked drily, just as Draco turned to her with a scrutinizing bark of " _what_ Death Eater?"

"I'm sorry," she offered quickly, addressing Theo first. "I didn't mean to be flippant, it's just - " she grimaced, turning back to Draco. "There was someone at the hospital, and he knew my name, and I don't know - it was just after seeing Tom, so - "

"Stop," Draco said forcefully, turning to her. "Tom?"

"This looks good," Fleur remarked quietly, slipping under Theo's arm and watching as Draco and Hermione exchanged glances; one sheepish, the other visibly contorted with apprehension.

"He came by the hospital," she explained. "He told me he wanted to explain what happened with - " her eyes flicked to Theo, and he recalled, hazily, that she had been there as he'd sat slumped over Smith, the realization filling him with an oddly cold flood of discomfort that Fleur seemed to feel, tightening her arm around his waist. "He just wanted me to - well," she amended, cutting herself off and toying with her thoughts, "to be honest, he didn't really seem to want to do anything other than make me uncomfortable."

"What did he say?" Draco demanded. "Exact words," he pressed, reaching for her hand and holding tightly to her fingers, taking possession of them in a fidgeting motion of sorts. "Nothing he says is ever coincidental, so - "

"Plato," she supplied quietly, and Draco's face drained of color as Theo, equally attuned to the significance, furrowed his brow. "He asked me if I knew what Plato thought about - " Hermione hesitated, swallowing. "About soulmates," she murmured, half under her breath, and Theo shook his head, recognizing the reference.

"Oh, Draco," Theo muttered. "You are so incontrovertibly _fucked._ "

But by the look on his face, Draco could already tell as much.

"Who was the Death Eater?" he pressed. "What did he look like?"

"Blond hair," she said. "Sort of stocky, older. Called me darlin'," she added, seeming to fight a shudder, and Draco shook his head, meeting Theo's eye.

"Rowle," they said in unison, and then Theo grimaced.

"At least it wasn't Lucius," he offered dully, and Draco began pacing the kitchen floor, his face drawn and pale.

"That's not funny," he snapped - though it sort of was, and might have been the slightest bit of a relief if he really thought about it - but when his eyes fell on Theo's again there was an unmistakable look to them, something lacking in defenses; _help me,_ he said, and Theo felt himself cave.

"We have to go to the hospital," Theo told him, exhaling slowly. "Susan's there," he clarified. "You know it won't go over well if Tom shows up. And as for Rowle - "

He trailed off. _We'll talk,_ he indicated, channeling his intent with a shrug.

"Right," Draco acknowledged unhappily, gritting his teeth as he turned to look at Hermione. "But - "

He trailed off, wordless. She met his eye.

Theo watched the quiet glance they shared; eyed the softening of Draco's shoulders as Hermione looked at him, her thumb brushing over his knuckle. It was the sort of gesture that shouted - even as it amounted, for all intents and purposes, to the equivalent of a whisper - with the kind of care and hushed tranquility that indicated it had been done dozens of times before, or hundreds, or thousands or even, perhaps, just once, but with breathless intention. It was a study in quietude, in the opulence of _ease_ , and the effect was devastating.

This was obviously no simple matter of fucking.

 _Damn,_ Theo thought, internally shaking his head.

"I'll take her home," Fleur said neutrally, pulling herself free from under Theo's arm. "Clearly you two have something afoot," she added, glancing at Theo, "and while I would very much enjoy your tireless efforts on my - "

"No, I'll take her," Draco cut in quickly. "It's - I can just - " he broke off, fidgeting, as he glanced guiltily from Theo to Hermione. "Look," he sighed, "Susan can wait - "

"It's fine," Hermione interrupted, shaking her head. "I should get home anyway. Work in the morning," she explained, "which it technically already is, I suppose - "

"They can take the Impala," Theo suggested. "You know nobody's going to fuck with Fleur," he added, reaching out to slip a finger playfully under her chin in what he discovered to be an unexpected rush of pride. "Your doctor's in good hands."

Draco grimaced, biting down on what was surely baseless hesitation.

"If anyone gets near her," Fleur promised him, rolling her eyes as she caught the motion, "I'll shoot them directly in the testicles, and then I'll pour lemon juice down their throats after I make them eat glass."

Hermione, alarmed, let out a helpless laugh, and Fleur arched a brow.

"I'm serious," she said, in the sort of dangerous voice that Theo had learned to recognize, and which required no translation.

"Oh," Hermione remarked quietly, paling, and Draco sighed.

"Fine," he said gruffly, turning to Hermione to take her face between his hands; he ran a thumb over her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. "You sure? You could stay here," he added, swallowing, as he gestured around his apartment, "but - "

"You're not safe here," Theo assured her. " _He_ fucked up," he added, jerking his head at Draco.

"On probably many levels," Fleur agreed, pulling away from Theo and holding her hand out expectantly. "Keys?"

Draco stared at her, still clearly not thrilled, but eventually dug in his pocket, pulling the car key off the ring and dropping it in her palm. "You sure?" he asked Theo, gesturing to Fleur. "You trust her?"

"Yes," Theo said honestly. "Frankly, I think this sort of thing gets her going," he added, glancing appreciatively at her. "The prospect of forcing someone to eat glass, I mean," he clarified, and she smirked. "Let's just say she's about as much a fairy princess as I am."

"Considerably less so," Fleur confirmed, sniffing, and turned to Hermione. "Ready?"

Hermione slid from the counter - revealing herself to be inordinately small, and promptly filling Theo with an oddly sympathetic leaning as to why Draco looked deathly ill at the thought of her being unaccompanied - and nodded.

"I'll see you," she told him, standing on her toes to brush her lips against his. "Okay?"

He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. "Be careful, Doc."

Fleur leaned in, nudging Theo. "They have nicknames," she noted. "What's mine?"

"You're my woman," he reminded her smugly, and she made a face, muttering obscenities into his mouth as he gave her what he assumed to be a deeply grateful and rewarding kiss.

Draco was twitchy and on edge from the moment they got outside, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he threw a leg over his bike.

"I don't like this," he muttered, fidgeting with his helmet as he watched Fleur and Hermione pull away down the darkened street. "If Thor's watching her - "

"Don't jump to conclusions," Theo warned. "Tread carefully." He paused, eyeing his bike as he considered how to broach the subject, and then turned back to Draco. "So," he ventured. "About her."

He toyed with words - _how long, how serious, how much?_ \- and deemed them all unsatisfactory, waiting instead for the moment the dam holding Draco's tongue finally broke.

"She's a surgeon," Draco choked out suddenly, shaking his head as he gruffly threw his helmet on. "She's a fucking _surgeon_ , and - "

"And we're pawns on wheels," Theo supplied, careful to keep his tone neutral as he passed Draco a semi-pained smirk. "You'd think she'd know better than to get involved with trash like you," he commented blithely.

They glanced at each other, grimacing, and percolated in silence.

"You could have told me," Theo said eventually, finally making his point. "I know I said to cut things off, but I didn't know that - " he trailed off, jerking his head to where she'd been, and to what he now knew he'd witnessed. "I didn't know. But I would have understood."

Draco hesitated. "It wasn't - "

"I would have understood," Theo repeated firmly, unbending, and Draco withered.

He scrubbed at his eyes, curling a hand around his mouth.

"If anything happens to her," Draco began, but Theo cut him off with a shake of his head.

"I get it," he said, and he did. "And I won't let it."

Draco sighed, pressing both hands to his face before shaking out his nerves, looking lost in thought.

"I hope Greg's okay," he muttered, glancing at Theo. "Think it's anything bad?"

Theo shrugged. "I'm not a doctor," he told him. "You can tell," he added casually, "because I'm not presently fucking you."

Draco flashed him a glare.

"Too soon?" Theo asked.

"God, I hate you," Draco replied, though Theo was gratified to see something resembling comfort work its way into his expression.

* * *

Hermione snuck another unsettled glance at the woman beside her, still somewhat in shock from the events of the night as she took in the blonde's steely demeanor. For a woman who looked like she could have been a supermodel in another life - tall, poised, ruthlessly attractive in an incomprehensibly unattainable way - Fleur had an almost brutish manner about her, taking the first corner away from Draco's apartment with a sharpness that was both fully unnecessary and unnervingly precise.

"You're not really an accountant, are you?" Hermione asked, her fingers digging into her own thigh as Fleur sped through a yellow light.

"I am," Fleur said, "of sorts." Her dark blue eyes flicked over Hermione with a brief glance askance, her mouth seeming to curve appreciatively. "I have to say, I'm relieved," she remarked, finally slowing down as they hit a red light. "He was really fucked up over you."

Hermione frowned. "Who? Draco?"

"Yes. Not that he really said anything, or that I really cared," Fleur added, leaning her head onto her left hand. "To be totally honest, I usually find his appearance a disappointment."

"Why?"

Fleur shrugged. "He has an unparalleled talent for interrupting me when I'm trying to have sex," she supplied, gracelessly hitting the gas as the light changed. "But I'm glad it's you he was mourning," she murmured, tapping the steering wheel. "If it had been some bit of bimbo trash, I think I'd have shot him."

"I - " Hermione trailed off. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," Fleur said, unfazed. "Left here?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, gritting her teeth as they flew through the intersection. "What did you mean by 'mourning'?"

"I suppose it was technically his friend he was mourning," Fleur supplied, "though if I'm any great judge of character - and I am," she clarified, arching a pointed brow as Hermione permitted a nod, "I suspected it was about a girl. Men get so soft after they've fucked us," she added, sniffing, and Hermione, who would have normally blushed at such a remark, instead found herself oddly pleased that Fleur had seemed so willingly conspiratorial; as though they were both equally in the same category, which they almost certainly were not.

"Right," Hermione said faintly, and gestured ahead. "It's the street after this one."

"How'd you get caught up with Draco?" Fleur asked, flashing her another sidelong glance. "You don't seem the biker type. Can't really bring him home to mum, can you?"

"I kind of don't care," Hermione admitted, and Fleur smirked - or smiled; hard to say. "Though I can't say I ever really thought it would be serious."

Fleur let out a surprisingly throaty laugh.

"The tattoos are a cover," Fleur assured her. "Deep down he's the ride or die type."

Hermione felt herself submit to a helpless smile. "Maybe," she murmured, and then looked up with confusion as Fleur suddenly slowed, her gaze drifting out to something on the street. "My building's just right over - "

"Get down," Fleur suddenly snapped, shoving Hermione's head forward and just missing the dash. "Watch your head," she warned, too late, and opened the glove box, pulling something out of it as Hermione glared over at her in a mix of bemusement and annoyance. "Hold this," Fleur instructed brusquely, shoving something into Hermione's hands.

"What fo- " Hermione stopped, registering the handle of the gun Fleur had thrust at her. "What the - "

"Your apartment's being watched," Fleur said flatly, ducking her head slightly as she sped past it. "I'm taking you somewhere else."

"But - " Hermione stammered, swallowing in disbelief. "But I have to go to work, and - "

"Call in sick," Fleur told her, cutting the wheel and flying through a right turn. "Good girl like you, I'm sure you've got some saved up."

"I'm a _doctor,_ " Hermione retorted impatiently. "An intern, even, which is _worse_ , and I just took a few days off after I was - " she stopped, grimacing. "After I got hurt."

"Doing what?" Fleur asked pointedly, and Hermione let out a brittle sigh, not wanting to supply the answer; after a moment, Fleur sighed, shaking her head.

"You know, at some point, things are not purely misfortune," Fleur warned her. "This world you've gotten yourself into isn't one to play games, or to hide long in the shadows. People know," she said emphatically. "People _see._ "

It was a well-intentioned point, if not particularly helpful.

"I just don't understand why anyone would be watching me," Hermione insisted. "I'm nobody."

"You understand loyalty, don't you? These men we love," she remarked, shaking her head. "They're lawless. Their only authority is each other. Their only punishment is each other." She glanced over, suddenly looking sympathetic. "Anyone who wants to hurt Draco Malfoy is going to hurt you to do it."

"But," Hermione said, forcing a swallow, " _why_?"

Fleur pulled up to a stop sign, easing Hermione's shoulder back as she lingered in the intersection. "You can sit up now," she said, with a surprising gentleness, but left her hand where it was. "This man they work for," she offered quietly. "This Tom Riddle. He's no ordinary employer."

Hermione looked over at her, waiting.

"There are men," Fleur explained slowly, "and then there are monsters. In this life you learn to recognize one from the other." She glanced over. "Do you understand?"

"No," Hermione admitted, and Fleur's mouth twitched into something of a smile.

"Lucky you," she said, and hit the gas again. "I'm taking you to my apartment," she told Hermione, reverting to her snappish self. "I'll have Draco decide from there what happens, but you'll be safe with me and Cedric. He's a - " she paused. "Also an accountant."

Hermione sighed.

"You're not an accountant," she grumbled, and this time, Fleur's smile was radiant.

* * *

Draco shook Hermione from his thoughts, reminding himself she was safe - he did sincerely believe Fleur could handle herself about as well as either he or Theo, much as he hated to admit it - and forcing himself to focus as they walked into the hospital, looking for sign of Greg.

"Excuse me," Theo said, walking up to an administrator. "We're looking for Gregory Goyle. Brought in about thirty minutes ago, I think, and - "

"You did this," they heard behind them; a sudden snarl of rage. Draco turned, catching sight of Susan advancing towards Tom and Lucius, who had entered through the west side of the building. "This is _your fault_ ," she shouted, hurling herself directly at Tom, and Draco and Theo scarcely exchanged a glance before promptly abandoning the administrator.

"Bones," Theo called breathlessly, jogging to take hold of her arm as Draco followed, the mild apprehension he'd felt suddenly crescendoing to a rush of blood in his ears. "Susan, don't - "

"How could you?" she snarled, ripping herself free of Theo's grip and brandishing a finger in Tom's face. "You _killed_ him - you and your stupid wars, you fucking got him _killed -_ "

"Susan," Draco muttered, trying to calm her as he stepped between her and Tom, catching the flash of irritation in Lucius' eye that told him unequivocally that restraint would be necessary. "Susan, look at me, tell me what happe- "

"You motherfucker," she spat at Tom, trying to wrestle past Draco and failing as he caught her shoulders, forcing her back. "You motherfucker, _how dare you -_ "

"It's late," Tom said flatly. "You're tired. You're grieving. Do not make the mistake of - "

"SHUT UP," Susan raged, wiping a mix of wrath and sweat and tears from her face as she tried to shove past Draco again and Theo caught her other side, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her against his chest. "He was a good man," she ranted, her voice breaking. "He was a _good man,_ and you had to ruin him, you had to fucking _ruin him -_ "

"Stop," Tom growled, and Draco turned, catching a flash of fury in the other man's blue eyes that, unlike usual, did not immediately fade; he seemed to grow more agitated, an unfiltered anger bleeding through his perpetual mask of sly omniscience. "Be careful which lines you cross, Miss Bones - "

"Why? Are you going to kill me too?" Susan spat, laughing maniacally, her smudged eyeliner bleeding down her cheek. "You took my aunt, you took my - " she faltered, choking on something that then seemed to lodge itself in Draco's throat as well. "You might as well," she said, wrenching herself free of both Theo and Draco and then standing still, her arms out, inviting him. "Do it here, Tom. Do it now. Let people see what you really are," she taunted bluntly, beckoning to him. "Your Death Eaters will clean me up for you when you're done - "

"Stop," Tom commanded icily, giving Lucius a brusque nudge towards the exit. "You're hysterical."

"She was afraid of you," Susan shouted after him, grabbing his arm, but he pulled free without stopping. "Maybe you weren't the one to make the threats, but she _knew_ it was you - "

"Stop," Tom said, pausing at that. "Get ahold of yours- "

"Greg didn't trust you either," Susan continued, flinging the accusation at his back. "It never points to you, Tom," she said bitterly, "but everyone always knows, don't they? Everyone fucking _always_ knows - "

"Stop it," Tom snapped, spinning on his heel and taking three long strides to reach her before yanking her into what looked like an approximation of an embrace, his voice so low that only Draco, beside them, and Susan, held tightly in his arms, could hear him. "You shut your mouth," he murmured in her ear, his knuckles white as they knotted themselves in her hair, "or I will make you. Do you understand?"

He abruptly released her and leaned back, expectant, but she only smiled at him, jaw clenched. "I understand perfectly," she said, unblinking, and then Tom took a hard step back, glancing once at Draco before heading out the door, not waiting for Lucius to follow.

They waited a moment, frozen until the doors behind Tom Riddle had closed, and then Theo forced a swallow, turning to Susan.

"Bones," he said quietly, but she didn't look at him.

"Internal bleeding," she supplied mechanically. "Dead on arrival. They said it happens slowly," she added, swallowing. "That symptoms don't always present themselves right away."

Draco let out a stiff breath. "Susan - "

"I loved him," she said, looking as though the thought was cruelly, terribly funny. "I wasted my time, and I wasted my life, but I loved him." She looked over at Draco, her face haunted. "Do you think he knew that?"

Theo stepped forward, reaching out to touch her shoulder; Draco, who couldn't manage to say a word, gave her the slightest nod.

She took a deep breath, burying it in her lungs, and stared out past the hospital doors to where the sun would almost certainly be coming up shortly.

"For the funeral," she began, and Draco saw Theo's fingers tighten around her shoulder.

"You have to leave," he murmured to her, his tone swelling with regret. She nodded; recognizing, as they had done, that she'd sealed her fate when she'd been reckless enough to threaten Tom Riddle.

"I know," she said, forcing a swallow. "I wouldn't want to be here anyway. So then you two," she said, turning to glance between Theo and Draco. "You'll take care of it?"

"Of course," Draco managed, feeling a stab of pain, and guilt, and putrefying anguish. "Of course."

Susan nodded briskly, steadying herself. "Cormac's family has a lake house," she said. "I'll just - " she broke off. "I'll tell him we're taking a vacation."

"Susan," Theo ventured, his mouth twisting down. "This was our fault - "

"No," she cut in, shaking her head. "No. He told me what he'd been doing. Told me he'd wanted to," she added, her eyes fluttering shut, "so you two can make your peace."

She paused for a moment, looking exhausted and impossibly small, and then took off without looking back at them, heading for the exit. She nearly passed through the doors - for a moment, Draco wondered if that would be the last he ever saw of her - before she came to a gradual stop, turning over her shoulder.

"Take it from someone who got out," she said, glancing miserably between them. "Tom is going to destroy you."

Draco shuddered, her words ominously prophetic.

"Good luck, Bones," Theo managed, and she nodded, slipping through the doors and leaving them behind.

They wandered out without speaking, marinating in loss that seemed unending; and then Theo turned to Draco, staring blankly into the space between them.

"She's right," he said flatly, and Draco dragged his fingers through his hair, letting his nails scrape against his scalp as he sighed.

"Potter asked me to do something for him," Draco said, and Theo glanced up, looking surprised. "Wants me to look into his parents' murder," he clarified. "Apparently Slughorn hinted that Tom had had something to do with it."

"That's why Slughorn tried to block the case list?" Theo asked, and Draco shrugged.

"That's what Potter thinks," he confirmed, and Theo frowned.

"Greyback already admitted to okaying the hit on Judge Bones," Theo reminded him. "Why would Tom have been part of it?"

Draco shrugged. "Didn't you say Griphook was implicated?" he suggested, guessing. "Maybe he was covering for Griphook."

Theo snorted his disagreement. "Griphook's got Fleur," he muttered, which even Draco had to admit was a worthy point. "He didn't need Tom's help."

"True," Draco conceded, trying to think. "They replaced Judge Bones with Thicknesse, didn't they?" he pressed. "He's been in Tom's pocket for years."

"Yeah, but who isn't?" Theo prompted, grimacing. "It hardly makes sense to kill a judge just to put one of his people in her place. Even for Tom, that's fucking unnecessary," he muttered.

"Maybe it's just coincidence," Draco agreed, "but still." He sighed. "Maybe I should look over the case list again."

"Was there anything that stuck out about the Potter case?" Theo asked, and then frowned as his phone rang, reaching into his pocket. "Hold on, it's Fleur - "

He walked away to take the phone call and Draco looked down at his own phone, pulling up the list he'd gotten for Amelia Bones' cases.

He stared at it, willing it to make sense, before opening up the information on Smith's trial specifically, staring down at the list of witnesses. He shook his head, coming up empty, until he arrived at a name that looked somewhat familiar.

 _Marvolo Gaunt,_ he read, and paused, racking his brain for the source of the name's familiar echo in his mind as something tapped pointedly inside his head.

"Gaunt," he muttered to himself, frowning. " _Morfin_ Gaunt," he recalled, nodding suddenly as he remembered the name of the vagrant that had been responsible for killing the Potters.

Gaunt. How common was that name?

 _Maybe it's coincidence,_ his brain reminded him; though his gut, unsettlingly, seemed to insist otherwise.

Draco reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and dialing Harry's number.

"Fuck, Draco," Harry said, answering halfway through the second ring. "I thought I'd hear from you sooner - Greyback's death is all over the news, and I - "

"Have you ever heard the name Marvolo Gaunt?" Draco interrupted, not wanting to get into it. "Is that someone from Knockturn?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said, with what Draco imagined to be his pensive frown. "But - Gaunt? As in Morfin?"

"I don't know," Draco confessed uneasily, and Harry made a somewhat disgruntled sound through the phone.

"I'll run the name," he said. "Any reason it sticks out?"

"He's listed a witness on Smith's case," Draco supplied. "Trying to see if Smith's case specifically might have had any connection to Tom. Sort of a longshot," he admitted, but Harry made a sound of hurried approval.

"No, no, go with it," Harry agreed. "Meet at the Leaky? Twenty minutes?"

"Yeah," Draco said, and then looked up as Theo approached, his face bearing an unsettling disturbance. "See you then," he said to Harry and promptly hung up, waiting expectantly for Theo's news. "What is it?"

"Your doctor's got a Death Eater outside her house," Theo supplied grimly, and Draco's chest tightened. "Judging from Fleur's description, it sounded like Avery."

"Fuck," Draco said, bile rising in his throat. " _Fuck_."

"Fleur took her home," Theo assured him. "Isn't letting her leave."

"Yeah," Draco said, nodding vacantly as his head spun with worry. "Good. Right, and then I should - "

"What was that?" Theo cut in, gesturing to the phone. "Potter?"

"Yeah," Draco confirmed hazily. "I thought I found a name that might connect Smith's trial to the Potter murder, though," he sighed, "none of that really points to Tom - "

"Doesn't matter," Theo said, shaking his head. "You know he covers his tracks. If you have a lead, go with it," he added. "I'll go to Fleur's."

Draco grimaced. "But I should - "

"Look," Theo interrupted. "Your girl's got Fleur, me, and what might very likely be a bounty hunter watching over her," Theo assured him. "And I'm willing to bet he made pancakes," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Draco said hesitantly, "but - "

"Go meet Potter," Theo urged. "The longer Tom's watching her - or _you_ , for that matter," he added darkly, "the worse this will be. We've got enough troubles," he reminded him. "Better you sort through this quickly before anyone catches on."

"But - "

"Susan just had to leave town," Theo reminded him. "Daphne's hiding at Potter's, and Astoria's _dead,_ " he snapped. "Fuck whatever Greyback's intentions were when he denied it, and _fuck_ what Tom says - I'm not willing to rule him out. Is that what you want for Hermione?" he demanded.

Draco pressed a hand to his temple, knowing the point had been made.

"Do not get her killed," Theo warned, shoving Draco's helmet into his chest. " _Go,_ " he said again, firmly.

And reluctantly, Draco went.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _we're getting close to the end, so updates will pick up here while the rest of my WIPs (for example,_ _ **Amortentia**_ _, in which I have recently completed 4 Disney-HP one shots based on Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Alice in Wonderland, and Mulan) will likely go on hold. Also, dedications will increase; this chapter is for saphorakhalidi, fluidangles021, and 65farmergirl. Thank you for reading!_


	24. Where There's Smoke

**Chapter 24: Where There's Smoke**

"Hey," Daphne murmured, slipping her arms around Harry's neck from behind as he clicked through the records in the police department's database. "You're up early. Did you sleep?"

Harry grimaced, tearing his gaze from the screen to face her. "Not really," he admitted, rubbing bleariness from his eyes and giving her something of an apologetic smile. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she assured him, and then paused. "Well, yes," she amended, touching his cheek, "but only because I now find it consummately unnerving when there's not someone trying to steal my pillow while I sleep."

Harry chuckled at that, shaking his head. "That was _one time_ \- "

"Hardly," she sniffed, turning his chair and slipping around it to settle herself lightly in his lap. "You're an incurable pillow thief, Officer," she informed him. "To think they put a badge on you," she lamented at a murmur, tutting softly as she kissed his temple.

Harry tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat; he coughed instead, shaking it free, and she gave him a knowing look, her eyes flooding with something just coaxing enough that he eventually let out a slow, reluctant breath, permitting it to turn hopeful when it met the space between them.

"Tell me," she invited softly, and he gave her a grim smile.

"Ever since Slughorn gave me that file," he admitted slowly, "I've felt this sense of something being just out of reach. Something I should know," he clarified, the pained smile slipping to a frown, "or that I should be able to see, but can't."

Daphne leaned in, resting her cheek against his forehead. "Like?"

Harry tightened his arms around her, feeling a renewed rush of shame as he spoke.

"I feel like I did them a disservice," he murmured, wincing at the memory of their names in the police file; James and Lily Potter _,_ the _victims_ , who had lived in an address - just down the main drag, a couple streets over - that he'd never known, or bothered to seek. "That I never asked the right questions, I mean. That I came back, but I never really came _back,_ " he confessed painfully. "I treated it like a new city, a new job - when the whole time there are glimpses of them everywhere, and I barely stopped to look."

Harry paused, summoning his voice. "Maybe they shopped in the same grocery store I do now," he told her, and Daphne's hazel eyes turned sad at that, molten and wistful and gold. "You know? Maybe they got coffee at the Leaky, and got drinks at Rosmerta's. Maybe I'm living the life they could have had," he said bitterly, and abruptly corrected himself. "That they were _supposed_ to have - "

"That's not fair," Daphne told him, shaking her head and pressing her forehead to his as she cut him off, her nails biting insistently into the back of his neck. "You can't hold yourself responsible for that, Harry."

 _I know,_ he wanted to say; wanted to believe. _I know I can't, but if I can't blame me -_

The end of that thought was pitiful.

 _\- who can I blame?_

"Malfoy said they were kill shots," he muttered, his mouth souring around the words. "This whole time I thought their death was some kind of accident - some unfortunate circumstance or something - but if he's right - " Harry faltered again, pained. "If he's right, they could have been someone's target, and I - I never even thought to _look_ \- "

"You were a child," Daphne reminded him. "You were told the case was cold."

"Yes," Harry sighed, "but - "

She cut him off again, this time to wrap her arms forcefully around his neck.

"I don't blame you for wanting the truth," she told him. "I certainly understand the compulsion - but you have the chance to do that now. Don't let them haunt you," she whispered, her lips next to his ear. "They wouldn't have wanted that for you."

He withered a little in her arms, letting out a slow exhale. He tucked his chin in the crook of her neck, wavering between idle solemnity and itching distraction - his attention caught briefly over her shoulder as the search results on the screen went dim - and eventually forced a nod, knowing she was right.

"I have to meet Malfoy in a few minutes," he told her, reaching up to smooth her hair under his fingers as she leaned back, meeting his eye with surprise. "He looked into the case a little bit more," he clarified. "Found a name that might connect my parents' case to the Judge Bones murder and called me a few minutes ago to tell me."

"You asked Draco for help with this?" Daphne remarked, her expression oddly unreadable, and Harry grimaced, but nodded.

"Is that strange?"

Daphne paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "No," she ruled eventually. "It's unlikely, definitely, and certainly not a prediction I'd have made, but it's not that strange if I really think about it." Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, curling themselves into his hair. "I think it's smart, actually, to try to get some perspective. God knows I'd need it," she added, rolling her eyes. "I've certainly needed it where it comes to Astoria - not that that's relevant here," she assured him hastily, "I was just, you know, postulating - "

"Actually, I've got this nagging feeling that all of this is connected," Harry confessed, shaking his head. "My parents, your sister, Judge Bones - " he trailed off, grimacing. "I have no proof of that," he conceded quickly, "but still, I just - "

He paused, and she gave him a helpless shrug, looking as though she wasn't sure what to say.

"I might be seeing something that's not actually there," Harry eventually admitted, closing his eyes as Daphne absentmindedly massaged the back of his neck. "Everything feels like guesswork, if I'm being honest, which isn't exactly my preferred method of investigation, but - "

"Hey," Daphne interrupted, her grip suddenly tightening against his neck and prompting his eyes to flutter open, startled. "Maybe you came back to Diagon when you did for a reason. Maybe," she suggested slowly, her voice somehow both soothing and urgent in his ear, "what feels like guesswork is actually you being good at your job, and maybe things have just now aligned for things to come to light, and maybe - "

She cut off, leaning back to lock eyes with him, earnest and honest and unflinching.

"Maybe what you see is actually important," she murmured, brushing her thumb over his lower lip, "because it can only be seen by _you_." She replaced her thumb with her lips, kissing him gently, before shaking her head. "Ever think of that, Officer?"

He paused, permitting a moment to indulge in what she'd said, and channeled his gratitude into another sigh of a kiss, feeling the corners of her lips turn up in a smile.

"So _maybe_ ," she finished, her hand slipping down to his chest, "you should just trust your instincts on this one. Got it?" she prompted, mockingly stern, before she slowly rose to her feet, disentangling herself from his grasp. "Better get going," she warned, gesturing to the clock. "Draco doesn't like to wait."

Harry sighed. "I'd be willing to bet there are a lot of things Draco Malfoy doesn't like," he muttered under his breath, and Daphne smiled.

"You know, maybe it's good you didn't grow up here," she informed him. "You'd have hated Draco if you'd met him back then, and - _god_ ," she suddenly groaned, "you would have absolutely _loathed_ me - "

Harry shook his head in protest. "I could never hate you," he promised. " _Him_ , though - " he grimaced, tapping the keyboard to re-awaken the screen. "That's a different story."

"Eh, maybe, maybe not," Daphne permitted, shrugging. "Who's this, by the way?" she asked, gesturing to the name on the screen. "Marvolo Gaunt?"

"Not sure," Harry replied, scribbling some notes before looking back at the information he'd pulled up in the database. "According to this, he's a dead ex-con with a rap sheet a mile long, but the name was listed as a witness in Smith's case."

"Is it someone from Knockturn, then?" Daphne asked, frowning, and Harry gave her an ambiguous shrug, uncertain. "Seems too weird a name to be a coincidence," she judged, chewing her lip. "Could it possibly be - "

"A son?" Harry guessed preemptively, and she nodded. "Not sure. I've pulled up a possible relative with the same name and a last known address in Diagon, but there's almost nothing on him. He disappeared years ago - no tax records, nothing. Too young to be this Marvolo's son," Harry added, and then paused, thinking. "But then - hold on - "

He clicked a few times in the open file, pulling up old records.

"Huh," he muttered, frowning at the screen, and Daphne squeezed his shoulder, heading back to the bedroom.

"Have fun," she told him, smiling a little, and he gave her an absent nod, printing off the page he'd been looking at and shoving it in his bag as he headed out the door to the Leaky.

* * *

Draco's voice flitted in and out of her head, sweeping through her thoughts.

 _It can never be normal for us, Doc,_ he'd whispered to her, his lips pressed to her curls as they clung to the back of her neck, sticky with sweat and ache and longing. _This isn't the life I wanted, it's not what I wanted, not what I want, not this not this not this - but it's what I was born for, it's what I was bred for, it lives in my blood -_

 _This is what I was born for,_ he'd said, and she had forced her eyes shut. _I'm nothing else but this -_

 _Take it, take me, take everything,_ he'd said, _I'm nothing, nothing but this -_

"Hermione?"

She looked up, blinking.

"Sorry," she muttered, shaking herself of the memory and forcing it from her mind. "What did you say, Cedric?"

He smiled.

Fleur's roommate was surprisingly attractive, albeit in a discomforting, almost predatory sort of way, stalking about the kitchen shirtless; Hermione shifted her glance from the table to look up at him, propping her head on the heel of her hand as he pointedly held up a spatula.

"Pancakes?" he repeated, his grin unapologetically broad, and Hermione opened her mouth to reply that _no, I'm not hungry, thank you_ when Fleur returned from her bedroom to smack the back of Cedric's head, brusquely ruffling his hair.

"Whatever you're doing, stop," Fleur commanded snottily, shaking her head and collapsing on the chair next to Hermione's. "She doesn't want it."

Cedric made a face. "Fleur," he announced, "they're just panca- "

"SHE DOESN'T WANT IT," Fleur snapped again, before turning to aim an alarmingly indulgent smile at Hermione. "Hungry?"

"Oh, _sure_ ," Cedric grumbled, tossing the spatula into the sink as he sat down with a plate. "So _you_ can offer, but _I'm_ ju- "

"I'm fine, thanks," Hermione interrupted, trying not to sound as anxious as she was feeling. "I'm really not hungry."

"What's wrong?" Cedric asked, cutting half a pancake and folding it, messily, directly into his mouth. "You seem upset," he added, though that was only a guess, as the words were nearly incomprehensible through the mouthful of breakfast food.

"Of course she's upset," Fleur contributed, kicking Cedric under the table. "She's being _watched,_ Ced, it's hardly ideal."

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, confessing his sins to her skin. _Nothing else but this -_

 _Is this it?_ she had silently wondered, gasping at his touch. _Is this all we can be?_

She forced him out of her thoughts a second time, glancing at the clock as she noted glumly that morning rounds were starting.

"I'm less worried about any Death Eater than I am about Padma Patil," Hermione muttered, leaning back in her chair as Fleur and Cedric both helplessly leaned forward, seemingly drawn in by the information.

"Who's that?" Cedric asked.

"Do you owe her money?" Fleur guessed. "Is she the kneecap-breaking type?"

"I'm happy to pay her a visit," Cedric added brightly, and Hermione sighed.

"No, it's not like that - she's my friend," she said quickly, a little unnerved by Cedric's glee, "but she's also my competition. It's just - it's complicated," she muttered, withering, and Fleur and Cedric exchanged glances.

"Again," Cedric offered, no less cheerful. "Happy to visit - "

"Just _once_ ," Fleur sighed, reaching out to swat at his hand, "can we get through the day without you trying to break someone's thumbs?"

Cedric opened his mouth to retort but they both paused, freezing comically, as the sound of a knock manifested from the door.

"You're getting off easy," Fleur informed Cedric after a beat, and then rose, pulling a handgun from the drawer in the kitchen - a now-predictable move that, admittedly, still left Hermione with an uncomfortable wash of dread - and heading towards it, checking through the peephole before pulling it open.

"So," Cedric murmured, leaning over as Hermione caught the flash of dark hair and tattoos that meant Theo was at the door. "This Padma person isn't what's actually bothering you, is it?"

Hermione grimaced, registering with disappointment that Draco had not joined Theo and then glancing over to meet Cedric's expectant stare. "Not exactly," she murmured, and was gratified to have Theo's entrance serve as an interruption, not wishing to delve. "Where's Draco?" she asked him, unable to disguise her disappointment as Theo entered with his arm around Fleur.

"With a cop friend of ours," Theo supplied. "Playing Nancy Drew."

"Cop friend?" Hermione echoed, startled. "Do you mean Harry?"

"Ah, so you know him too," Theo sniffed, making a face. "Magnificent."

"Why's he with Harry?" Hermione pressed, but Theo shook his head evasively, taking a seat and pulling Fleur onto his lap.

"Look, the sooner they figure out who's behind all this, the better," Theo told her flatly. "Draco had a hunch, and I told him to run with it. In the meantime, you're safe with us."

"But how long is this going to take?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. "I mean, don't get me wrong," she amended quickly, glancing between Fleur and Cedric, "I'm grateful you've taken me in - "

"A given," Cedric permitted, gesturing. "Continue."

" - but am I just supposed to sit here for days? Weeks? I have a _job_ ," she reminded Theo. "A career, and a fragile one that I haven't quite _earned_ yet, so - "

"Having doubts?" Theo prompted, pointedly locking eyes with her. "There's a reason men like Draco are cautionary tales, you know - "

"Though, in fairness, the phrase is 'tall, dark, and handsome,' not 'tall, smarmy, and abnormally pale,'" Fleur declared primly, arching a brow at Theo. "How was she to know?"

"The tattoos," Theo suggested in answer. "The bike," he added, pausing to enumerate on his fingers, "the chronic penchant for violence - "

"It's not Draco I'm having doubts about," Hermione cut in, glaring at him. "I just - I assume this has something to do with Tom, doesn't it?"

There was a pause, and Theo's subsequent silence - paired with a telling grimace that he shared with Fleur - spoke volumes. In the absence of outright confirmation, Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

"I just don't understand why everyone seems to be so - " she paused, toying with her word choice. "Uncomfortable," she determined eventually, though _untrusting_ or _thoroughly_ _terrified_ would have also suited, "when it comes to Tom - but nobody does anything about it."

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, all scars and bruises; a beatified mess of muscle and bone, and yet beholden somehow to blood. _Nothing else but this -_

 _You could be safe,_ she had thought to offer instead. _You could be safe, you could be loved -_

 _You could be mine._

Fleur and Theo exchanged a glance, and then Theo drummed his fingers against the table, conjuring a response.

"The thing about being a Death Eater," he began slowly, and Hermione had to fight the oppositional groan that rose up in her throat as she shook her head, interrupting.

"I get it," she told him, the words perhaps a bit too clipped. "I really do. Draco's explained it to me, that disloyalty between brothers is - "

" - the worst crime a Death Eater can commit," Theo finished gruffly, looking somewhere deep into the spectrum of irritated as Fleur added an equally admonishing glance; nearly an _I told you so,_ which Hermione wasn't entirely thrilled to receive. "And anyway, it's more than that. Tom's _dangerous_ ," Theo said flatly. "So yeah, we don't trust him - at the best of times, we barely fucking _like_ him," he added, scoffing, "but as long as he has the majority of the club operating on his command, there's nothing Draco or I can do about it."

On Hermione's right, Cedric quietly loaded another overlarge bite of pancakes, silently scrutinizing her expression.

"He has to have done _something_ , though, right?" Hermione insisted, recognizing the stubborn pitch to her tone and forging ahead despite it. "If he's given you pause for doubt, then _surely_ this isn't the first time - "

"No, it's not," Theo cut in, "but the problem is that as far as most people see it, Tom Riddle's been good for the club. He's brought in more money," he explained impatiently, "gotten the Diagon PD on his payroll, _and_ a county judge - "

"What?" Hermione interrupted, mildly aghast, and Theo gave her a brisk, knowing shrug.

"This is exactly what I'm trying to tell you - that he's _powerful_ ," Theo informed her roughly. "And to say that people don't like to cross him is the fucking understatement of the century."

Hermione blanched. " _Still,_ " she murmured, floundering for a point, but in the absence of one - finding herself uncharacteristically speechless - she let her opposition wilt to a pained grimace, her gaze flicking frustratedly around the room.

Cedric chewed slowly, still watching her, and across the table, Theo's expression suddenly shifted, something in him seeming to catch momentum at the look of discouragement on her face.

"Of course, if there was a way to prove that Tom _hadn't_ had the club's best interests in mind," Theo suggested suddenly, his gaze traveling slyly to Fleur's, "then maybe it wouldn't be such an uphill battle. If, perhaps, we knew how he used the club's money - "

"Oh _no_ you don't," Fleur retorted, giving Theo's face a shove. "Don't drag me into this."

"Drag you?" Theo asked sweetly, nipping at her fingers. "I would never be so inelegant as to _drag -_ "

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, frowning. "What's wrong with how he uses his money?"

"Something is _off_ ," Theo announced decisively, staring pointedly at Fleur, "with the payments between Griphook, a famously nefarious arms dealer - "

"Antiquities," Fleur corrected, and Theo rolled his eyes.

" - nefarious _antiquities_ dealer, then - and Tom Riddle," he finished, glancing pointedly at Hermione. "Something that I caught some time ago - "

"And which _I_ , despite your investigatory prowess, cannot and will not divulge," Fleur reminded him, glowering. "Your problems with your boss are yours, and mine are mine."

"What happened to me being your man?" Theo demanded, glaring at her, and Fleur made a face.

"You still are," she confirmed brusquely, "and _maybe_ if I really thought it would help you, I would tell you what I thought, but the fact remains that your Death Eaters will trust Tom's judgment regardless. Your problem is there," she said, gesturing to Theo. "That you can't build your little rebellion on anything less than outright betrayal, and what I know, I think, is less."

"Griphook pays more for the guns than Tom tells us," Theo reminded her. "How could that possibly not be a betrayal?"

"He's your leader," Fleur said, shrugging. "Your protector, and your patron," she added, and Theo made a face. "A man in his place isn't going to be brought down by a few mismatched payments, and surely you must know that."

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, ever beholden to his brotherhood. _Nothing else but this -_

 _This is what I was born for,_ he'd said, _to be a pawn in another man's game -_

"Protector," Theo echoed skeptically, shaking his head before letting out an irreverent scoff. "Draco's probably got a Plato quote for that - "

" _This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs_ ," Hermione supplied, and Theo looked up, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. " _When he first appears he is a protector_."

"Of course," Theo muttered to himself. "I can't fucking believe two of you exist - "

"The point is," Fleur interrupted, rising to her feet and disentangling herself from Theo, "I don't believe you have much to gain by knowing the details of Tom's transactions. You'd sooner be brought down by it - by virtue of fraternizing with an outsider," she reminded Theo, pointedly gesturing to herself, "and working behind his back. He'd just come up with an excuse, and you'd be ostracized, or _worse_ \- "

She leant over, brushing her lips against Theo's neck. "Something might happen to your pretty face, Nott," she murmured, stroking her thumb along the edge of his cheek.

Theo appeared to fight back a shudder. "But still - "

"You obviously know what Tom does with the money," Hermione suggested loudly, and Fleur shifted, eyeing Hermione with something so sharp she nearly felt the stab. "What do you have to gain by protecting him?"

"Not everything is about gaining or losing," Fleur informed her. "I told you that you don't understand this world - "

"Maybe not, but what I _do_ understand is that he scares you. _And_ you," Hermione cut in, gesturing respectively from Fleur to Theo. "You clearly think I'm in danger, _and_ Draco, and - " she broke off, knowing she was heading dangerously close to a tenuous line and forcing herself not to cause damage when she crossed it. "And even if knowing what Tom does with his payments isn't enough to undermine him completely," she suggested carefully, "it can't help just to know, can it?"

Fleur straightened, narrowing her eyes as she stared at Hermione.

"Oh, come on, Fleur," Cedric drawled, leaning back in his chair and eyeing her with a smirk. "Help them defeat their evil overlord, would you?"

Fleur let out a loud sigh.

"Fine," she said briskly, and Hermione and Theo both leaned forward, exchanging a glance before staring expectantly at Fleur. "Yes, something is off in the payments," she confirmed, unblinking. "The number you saw," she clarified, gesturing to Theo, "it's the total that Griphook gives Tom for the shipments, but there's a second transaction before it gets to the club. A portion of the payment is transferred to someone else."

"Who?" Theo asked, not unpredictably, and Fleur sighed again.

"Marvolo Gaunt," she supplied, and disappointingly, a glance at Theo's face told Hermione that the name didn't mean anything to him. "I don't know who he is," Fleur informed them, "and I've never met him, but that's the name I keep on record."

"That's not a Death Eater," Theo said, frowning. "I've never heard that name before."

Fleur shrugged. "As I said," she told him. "I don't know who he is, but from what it looks like, Tom's paying him and using Griphook to do it."

"I'll ask Draco," Theo said, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone, "but I really don't know who that could be."

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, and Hermione knew then that she coveted something she might never fully have. _Nothing else but this -_

 _No,_ she'd wanted to say, _no, there has to be more, there has to be this -_

 _There has to be us -_

It seemed a dead end, and that, more than anything, seemed unbearable.

"This can't be the first time Tom's done something like this," Hermione erupted without warning, rising to her feet and pacing the kitchen floor in frustration. "You said it yourself," she added to Fleur. "He's not a normal man - this _can't_ be the worst thing he's ever done - "

"It almost certainly isn't," Theo agreed; looking, for the first time, almost sympathetic. "But that man never gets caught."

"Haven't people suspected him of anything?" Hermione demanded, her voice strained. "How did he get to be where he _is_ ," she added with frustration, "if people are so afraid of him?"

"He was vice president of the club for - I don't know, fucking _years_ ," Theo informed her. "Whatever it seems like now, he was the natural choice at the time."

"So there was never any doubt about choosing him?" Hermione pressed, pivoting back to face him. "Nobody else ever vied for his spot?"

Theo frowned.

"No, there wasn't," he admitted, "but to be fair, none of us expected Dumbledore to die when he did. And then we found out the club was in debt," he added, glowering, "so I think we were mostly relieved when Tom took the reins and sorted it out - "

"Protector," Fleur supplied, gesturing lazily, and Hermione grimaced - until something about Theo's response struck a discordant note in her unsettled thoughts.

"What do you mean you didn't expect Dumbledore to die?" she cut in, pausing abruptly where she stood beside the table. "What happened to him?"

"Some sort of medical complication," Theo supplied. "He died on the operating table after an infection, or something - "

" _Surgical_ error?" Hermione interrupted, her mind whirring with opposition. "That's - I've never heard anybody mention it at the hospital - "

"I mean, it was shocking, but people were already sort of restless with him," Theo assured her. "I'd say about half the club was happy to see him gone." He paused. "The _loud_ half," he clarified. "Lucius, Rowle, Avery - the ones Dumbledore had smothered for years, basically - "

 _Dumbledore didn't care for me, really,_ she remembered Draco saying, _probably because Tom and my father were always off doing things he wouldn't have approved of -_

"And nobody thought Tom might have had something to do with it?" she asked, resuming her seat at the table. "Not once?"

Theo hesitated, obviously torn.

"Killing a brother, much less the president is - beyond unconscionable. It's out of the question," Theo informed her flatly, becoming more certain as he spoke, or at least making an effort to appear that way. "And anyway, Dumbledore was the only one who kept Tom in line, and the only one Tom was even remotely willing to follow. Dumbledore was the one who brought Tom to Diagon," he continued, "the one who brought him into the club - "

"But still," Hermione pressed. "Are you really going to sit there and tell me that after everything else you've seen and heard about Tom Riddle, you don't believe he would have killed someone for his own gain?"

Theo's face darkened, his mouth contorting alarmingly with something just shy of anger.

"No, I'm not," Theo retorted, suddenly harsh, "but I _am_ going to sit here and tell you that you can't throw around an accusation like that without any fucking proof. It would _gut_ the club," he said emphatically, rising suddenly to his feet. "It would _destroy_ it, and maybe that doesn't matter to you - "

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, resigned to his fate; to his imperfect stars. _Nothing else but this -_

"Of course it _matters_ to me," Hermione shot back, half-shouting at Theo's back. "But what if Tom _did_ have something to do with it? Wouldn't that change everything?"

At that, Theo froze, the blades of his shoulders visibly tensing.

"Yes," he said. "It would change everything."

"Well, good," Hermione said, stammering slightly as Theo turned, something darkly miserable burying itself in the lines in his face. "Then if we just - "

"The friend we went to see in the hospital," Theo spat brusquely, cutting her off. "He died."

There was a pause.

"Theo," Fleur murmured, shifting towards him; he pulled out of her reach, still staring at Hermione, appearing to be waiting for something she couldn't possibly know how to put into words.

"I'm sorry," Hermione offered, helpless, but Theo leaned towards her, blankly enraged.

"He _died_ ," Theo repeated. "And do you know why?"

Hermione tried to say no but couldn't conjure the word, finding her mouth dry and unwilling.

"We went after the man who was responsible for the death of my father," Theo spat, not waiting for a response. "The man who carved Tom's name so deep into a brother's chest that _he_ nearly died. The man who hunted us, who sent his men after us - and the man who shot your fucking boyfriend in the shoulder and started this whole thing," he reminded her, his green eyes flashing with something that was more hurt than mean, and more broken than cruel, but still brought a knife of guilt to the lining of Hermione's throat.

"And all of that happened," Theo ranted, "because we ran an errand on _Tom Riddle_ 's orders. So yeah," he said, letting out a bark of horrible laughter, "it _would_ fucking change everything."

Theo leaned away from her, running a hand through his hair, and took a couple of steps back, not meeting anyone's eye. "It would mean Greg Goyle died for nothing," he ground out, swallowing; and then, abruptly, his face took on a vacant look of anger. "It would mean that my father died for _nothing_ ," he shouted, slamming a fist against the counter in a motion so laden with misery that it forced a shudder up Hermione's spine.

"Theo," Fleur said again, taking a few steps towards him, but he shook his head, refocusing on Hermione.

"Look, I don't _like_ Tom Riddle," he told her, impatient and bitter and firm. "I think the fucking worst of him at best, but this is on a totally different scale. This is - " he grimaced, tearing his eyes away from her to glance bitterly at Fleur. " _This_ would be the betrayal you're looking for. This would mean that the thing I devoted my life to," he said through gritted teeth, "and that Draco and I are both willing to _die for_ , is built on a fucking lie. So yeah," he said, shaking his head as Fleur reached for him, her fingers grazing the skull and the snake on his wrist. "This is the betrayal you wanted - "

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, burdening himself to eternity, dragging himself from his knees. _Nothing else but this -_

" - and it would fucking change everything," Theo forced out, looking somehow both ten feet tall and impossibly small, torn between truth and terror, and when Fleur took hold of his hand and pulled him away he only took a minute - a second, a blink of an eye, a sprinted breath - to meet Hermione's gaze with the full blow of his devastation before he let Fleur pull him away, the door closing behind them to leave Hermione and Cedric alone at the kitchen table.

For several minutes, Hermione stared at the grain of the table, wondering if there was something else she should have said; something better, more convincing. Less repellent.

Though she could not fathom what that might have been.

"The thing about men," Cedric ventured slowly, and she looked up, meeting his eye with a grimace, "is that we don't like to question our world views. Makes us twitchy," he explained. "Prompts a dire need to stick our dicks in something and fuck it out until we forget."

She wanted to laugh, but the effort seemed exhausting.

"I can't say I blame him," she muttered, "but still, if Tom really did this, they could be in more danger than they think. Draco could be - "

She trailed off, channeling her nerves into her teeth against her lip.

"If Draco gets hurt," she tried again, but there was no finishing that sentence. She let it die on the end of her tongue, slowly dragging her gaze up to meet Cedric's.

He, she noted, was watching her with something resembling amusement.

"You need proof," Cedric remarked. "What would you need to get it?"

Hermione shook her head wearily. "An autopsy, I guess," she murmured. "If Dumbledore really died in surgery, there'd be records. A mortality conference. _Something_ ," she sighed. "Some proof it had happened."

"Hm," Cedric said, setting his fork down beside his plate. "And you could get these things?"

She gave him a wary sidelong glance. "What are you suggesting?"

He grinned.

"Look, these Death Eaters," he began, gesturing behind him to where Theo had disappeared, "they like to do things together, holding hands - but I, for one, never excelled at team sports. Unless you count sex," he conceded brightly, and Hermione made a face. "Or not," he assured her quickly, wisely reading the room. "Either way, I'm a proponent of getting answers for yourself."

Hermione frowned. "I was being watched at the hospital, though," she reminded him. "Could be dangerous."

"Well," Cedric said silkily, "lucky I'm not your average accountant."

Hermione let out a groan of a sigh. "Are you even an accountant at all?"

"There's some accounting involved," Cedric supplied evasively. "Some holding _accountable_ , I guess you could say - "

"Now you're just toying with semantics," Hermione informed him, and he shrugged.

"Have gun, can shoot," he clarified primitively, pointing to himself and then gesturing towards the apartment's front door. "So are we doing this, princess?"

Hermione glanced back at the room Theo had disappeared into, toying with the decision.

 _This is what I was born for,_ Draco had said, but he had not known just how tirelessly she would fight. _Nothing else but -_

"This," Hermione said, rising to her feet, "sounds like a great idea."

* * *

"Hey," Draco said, nodding to Harry as he slid into the booth at the Leaky. "You're late."

"Yes, but I'm not empty-handed," Harry replied, passing him a sheet of paper. "Your hunch wasn't totally unfounded, and - " he paused, distracted. "Did you buy me coffee?" he asked, bewildered, as he pointed to the mug that had been placed somewhat expectantly on his side of the table.

"Christ, Potter," Draco muttered, grabbing the paper from him and rolling his eyes as Harry eyed the cup, quietly marveling. "It's just fucking _coffee_ \- "

"Aw, you like me," Harry said, glancing up with a grin. "You really, really like me."

"Give me that," Draco snapped, snatching the coffee out of his hands and sitting it beside his own half-drunk mug. "Now," he said, glancing back down at the piece of paper. "What the fuck is this?"

"Well," Harry said, pausing as Draco slapped his hand away from inching towards the coffee, "Marvolo Gaunt is the son of Morfin Gaunt, named after Morfin's father. Marvolo was born in Diagon," he added, gesturing to the address on the sheet and then slyly reaching for the mug a second time, getting himself slapped again, "and - _ouch,_ stop it, Malfoy, just give me the coffee - "

"Do you feel you've earned it?" Draco drawled, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"So look, Marvolo Jr is from Diagon originally. Went to Diagon High and everything," he added, gesturing to the paper again, "until he was expelled and sent to juvie. He served a couple years, turned eighteen, and then fell off the map completely after his record was expunged."

"Have you looked at the juvie record?" Draco asked, and Harry shook his head.

"It's sealed," he supplied. "I'd need a court order to see it."

"Thicknesse'll do it," Draco offered absently, scanning the information again; it was hideously sparse. "Just drop my name."

"Great," Harry said. "Can I have the coffee now?"

"Fine," Draco sniffed, permitting an affected sigh before nudging the cup towards him while pulling out the Potter case file. "I have something for you too, actually, so you'll need to buy me a scone."

Harry arched a brow. "A _scone_?" he asked dubiously.

Draco pointedly gave him the finger.

"Scone it is. As you were, then," Harry prompted, and Draco slid the court document across the table to him.

"Look at the prosecutor," Draco instructed, pointing, and Harry frowned.

"Amelia Bones," he read, and glanced up. "She was assigned to this case?"

"She was, until she was replaced partway through the case," Draco explained, gesturing to the dates, "and then it never went to trial."

"Huh," Harry said, shaking his head. "So these really are connected, then?"

"The evidence would suggest that, although I can't think how," Draco admitted. "My guess is if you can look at Marvolo's juvenile record, we might be able to figure out where he is now."

Harry sat back, his expression vacant with thought; for a moment, Draco felt a brush of irritation, wondering if he had been listening, and then Harry spoke, his voice oddly loud, as if he'd been in a trance.

"Why would Amelia Bones be pulled from my parents' case?" Harry asked, looking mildly distressed as he brought the mug of coffee to his lips. "Do you think she would have known something?"

"Yes, Potter, that's sort of how these things work," Draco muttered, making a face. "And she wasn't just pulled from it - she was _promoted._ Made a judge, and then she was replaced with an ineffectual prosecutor who was fired shortly after, so," he shrugged. "Two and two, as they say - "

"That," Harry cut in seriously, "sounds Death Eater-y." He paused, locking eyes with Draco. "Doesn't it?"

"Is that supposed to mean that it reeks of covertly sinister influence?" Draco asked. "Because yes, it does," he permitted stiffly, "but I'd appreciate some fucking sophistication in the analysis, Potter, for christ's sake - "

"So," Harry remarked. "Surely one of your people was around to take care of it, right?" he prompted, giving his coffee a loud, pointed slurp. "Can't you just ask one?"

Draco paused, weighing his options.

"Yes," he admitted eventually. "I can ask _one_."

"Mulciber?" Harry guessed, and Draco nodded.

"Mulciber," he agreed grimly. "Others would know, but with things as they are - "

He hesitated, and Harry seemed to grasp the message.

"Keep this to people you can trust," Harry agreed. "Which I assume means Nott," he conceded warily, "and if Darian's willing to talk - "

"That's about it," Draco confirmed. "Possibly my father - _maybe_ ," he said, as Harry made a skeptical face of disagreement, "but I'm not sure."

"Well, that's your call," Harry judged, sliding out of the booth and rising to his feet. "I'll get in touch after I hear from Thicknesse. TBD on the scone," he added, and Draco made a face.

"I'll let you know if I get anything from Darian, presuming I receive the pastry I am owed," he supplied, joining him. "And if anything else comes up, you know," he waved a hand, letting the sentence end in an ambiguous gesture. "You know."

"Hey," Harry interrupted, suddenly gripping Draco's shoulder and colliding with him just before the exit. "Are you alright?"

"What?" Draco asked, slightly dazed by the question, and Harry dropped his voice, suddenly conspiratorial.

"Greyback's dead," Harry said flatly. "And by the looks of it, you haven't slept since it happened."

Draco bristled. "So?"

" _So_ ," Harry indulged, "are you alright, Draco?"

Draco blinked. "Yeah," he ventured, and then cleared his throat. "Yeah," he repeated, more certain this time. "I am."

Harry paused for a moment, his dark brow well on its way to furrowing, and then gave him a shrug.

"Just be careful," he warned. "Don't do anything stupid," he clarified, glaring pointedly, and Draco grimaced.

" _You_ be careful, stupid," he muttered under his breath, and Harry rolled his eyes, promptly striding out of the diner as Draco paused, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket.

It was a text from Theo; one line, and a sickening one, all things considered.

 _ **Ever heard of Marvolo Gaunt?**_

"Fuck," Draco said aloud, shaking his head as he picked up the pace towards his bike.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _"Where there's smoke, there's fire." Hermione's quote is, predictably, from The Republic. Three chapters remain, all to come this week (ideally), followed by an epilogue. Dedicated to writingaddict169, Mondschein Psychi, and Neakco!_


	25. Blood is Thicker

_**a/n:**_ _Please be courteous to other readers and_ _ **do not include spoilers**_ _in any reviews. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter 25: Blood is Thicker**

It took a moment - several moments - for Theo to stop pacing; Fleur, in the meantime, sat herself down on the bed, crossing her legs and letting her gaze follow him warily throughout the room.

"Your phone's buzzing," she informed him, gesturing to where he'd thrown it down on the duvet. "Draco's texting you."

"Yeah," Theo muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I just - I need to - "

He broke off, and Fleur shrugged, somewhat sympathetically.

"Take a minute," she agreed. "God knows that man could learn to wait."

Theo sighed, shaking his head.

"Was I too hard on the doctor?" he asked, spinning to face Fleur. "She's new to all this, and she's - " he grimaced. "You know. _Normal_."

Fleur shrugged again; this time it was nonchalance. "How normal can she be?" she prompted dubiously. "She knew what she was getting into when she met Draco, didn't she?"

" _Nobody_ knows what they're getting into with this shit," Theo retorted, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Even I still fucking don't - and _by the way_ ," he interrupted himself sharply, recalling his earlier irritation. "Were you really not going to tell me about Marvolo Gaunt?"

Fleur said nothing, her expression coolly fixed, and Theo glared unhappily down at her.

"What's the point of swimming in the same fucking underbelly if you're just - " he faltered, stammering. "What's the _point_ ," Theo blurted out, "if you're just going to let me drown?"

The words had come out louder - firmer, or, perhaps, harsher - than he'd intended, but he steadied himself, readying for a fight. Fleur, on the other hand, leaned back onto her elbows, giving him a careful, scrutinizing glance.

"You're being unreasonable," she remarked eventually. "I gave you my reasons."

Theo stared, wanting to scowl at her, but found the effort hard to conjure; instead, he threw himself down on the bed beside her, bringing his hands to his face.

"I know," he muttered, the words smuggling their way through the gaps in his fingers. "I guess I just forgot you don't play for my team."

She let out a long, burdened sigh, and then rolled over, propping her head up on her elbow to look at him.

"I do," she murmured, resting her hand on his chest. "Not this team," she said, flicking lightly against his Dark Mark tattoo, "but yours. _Your_ team. Ours _._ " She swallowed heavily, shifting over to rest her head against his shoulder. "Perhaps I forgot for a moment."

Theo, who had never been particularly picky with apologies, found the statement satisfactory, smoothing her hair under his fingers; then he remembered, with a sudden flash of clarity, that he'd been in the middle of something before being held captive by an ill-timed existential crisis.

"Phone?" he prompted, and she reached over and handed it to him, slapping it down in his palm. He tapped on the messages, reading the one he'd sent - _**Ever heard of Marvolo Gaunt?**_ \- followed by Draco's response:

 _ **Yeah**_

"Verbose, Draco," he muttered, shaking his head as he freed his arm from around Fleur's torso, raising the phone over his face to type in an answer.

 _ **well who the fuck is he you dick**_ , Theo replied.

"Succinct," Fleur noted.

 _ **I've got Potter on it. All I know so far is that he's the son of Morfin Gaunt, the ex-con they pinned the Potter murder on, and that he was born in Diagon.**_

Theo made a face.

 _ **that's all you know? why do you have potter 'on' it then**_

Theo watched as the screen indicated that Draco was typing; the pending speech bubble stopped, started again, stopped, and then there was a pause before his response finally came through.

 _ **I think the Bones murder and the Potter murders are connected. I don't know how yet, but I'm heading to the Manor to find out if Darian knows anything.**_

 _ **why?**_ Theo asked, abruptly dislodging Fleur to sit upright. _**don't fucking get up to shenanigans without me draco**_ , he warned furiously, _**or i'll break ur kneecaps**_

 _ **It's really more of a hijink**_

 _ **shut up**_

 _ **You shut up**_

Theo rolled his eyes, starting to type a response, when he got another message from Draco.

 _ **So how'd you hear about Marvolo?**_

 _ **fleur**_ , Theo replied. _**she**_ _**said tom's been using griphook to pay whoever that marvolo cunt is as part of a second transaction**_

 _ **You don't know he's a cunt.**_

 _ **I KNOW HE'S A CUNT**_

 _ **christ**_

 _ **don't fuck with me draco i'll**_

He stopped typing as a second text from Draco came in.

 _ **So I take it Fleur doesn't know who he is either, then?**_

 _ **no. she's never met him**_

 _ **Damn. Guess we have to wait for Potter, then.**_

 _ **ugh**_

Theo paused, letting Fleur draw circles on his spine, and then forced himself to continue.

 _ **btw your doctor thinks tom killed dumbledore**_

It took a minute.

 _ **What?**_

Theo grimaced.

 _ **hermione thinks tom killed dumbledore to take his place**_

 _ **I heard you.**_

 _ **Okay well... what the fuck**_

A tentative speech bubble, and then a pause.

 _ **Do you think she's right?**_

Theo paused, chewing his lip.

 _ **honestly i don't know what to think**_

Another pause.

 _ **I'll let you know when I leave the Manor. We can talk then.**_

That was about as expected, particularly since it wasn't a topic of conversation to be had over the phone, but Theo still found he was disappointed.

 _ **sure**_ , he replied, secretly wondering if Draco would sense his lack of enthusiasm.

 _ **She doing okay?**_ Draco asked.

Apparently not.

 _ **she's fine**_ , Theo replied. _**your best friend was kind of a dick to her though**_ _._ He paused, and then added, with an audible sigh: _**sorry**_.

 _ **He's generally a dick to me too**_

Theo let out something that might have been a laugh, or else a sigh of relief.

 _ **thanks**_ , he replied. _**i feel better**_

 _ **Then you definitely misheard. I said you're a dick**_

Theo smirked.

 _ **sorry what?**_

 _ **Fuck, I hate you.**_

 _ **but ily draco**_

 _ **Stop it.**_

Not unpredictable.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But still, Theo couldn't shake the feeling of something being inexplicably _off_ ; some extrasensory perception that if Draco were to investigate this, and to do it alone, that then something might -

Theo grimaced. Even internally, he couldn't quite finish the thought.

 _ **be careful**_ , he started to type, but then shook his head, feeling stupid. _I'm always careful,_ Draco would say, or else, _when has being careful ever worked?_

Hardly worth it. Instead he sent an emoticon of a dick, which Draco rudely ignored.

"How's it going?" Fleur asked, nudging him, and Theo set the phone down, turning to give her a long, searching look.

"Have I mentioned," he said slowly, "how pretty you are?"

"Oh _god_ ," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "I'm just admiring yo- "

"I know I'm pretty," she cut in, shaking her head as she planted her feet on the floor and stood, pulling him up from the bed. "What's the problem?"

Theo rose to his feet with reluctant deliberation. "I'm a little concerned," he admitted slowly, "about Draco being alone." He paused, mulling over his phrasing, before determining there was no good way to say it. "I was sort of hoping I could talk you into babysitting duty," he rushed out, wincing preemptively as she made a face of utter repulsion.

"God, you two," Fleur said, rolling her eyes. "You're obsessed with each other. If I hadn't watched Draco go bananas over that doctor of his, I'd have a lot of quest- "

"Same underbelly," he reminded her, cutting her off with a finger to her lips. "You get it," he murmured, setting his hands on her hips, "don't you?"

He bent his head, kissing her neck, and she let her head fall back, dramatically sighing.

"Yes," she groaned. "And _fine._ "

"You're an angel," he declared, taking her face in his hands and kissing her firmly before wrenching the bedroom door open. "You're my french princess, my belov- "

He stopped, eyes wide, as he noticed the vacancies at the kitchen table.

"Wh- " he began, and stopped. "How - "

"Well, now _this_ is why you shouldn't babysit," Fleur lamented flatly. "It seems that you've misplaced the children."

* * *

"Okay, so," Hermione whispered, ducking her head around the corner and then gesturing for Cedric to follow as she made her way through St Mungo's west wing. "Admin offices are on the top floor, and - "

She paused, holding a finger to her lips and then pressing her back flat against the wall as Dr Pomfrey swept past.

"Why are we hiding?" Cedric whispered loudly. "Don't you work here?"

"Yes, but not today," Hermione hissed back, grabbing hold of him and pulling him along behind her. "They're not exactly going to understand the excuse that I'm possibly being hunted by a bunch of - _shit_ ," she breathed, ducking back into the corridor after catching the eye of the same Death Eater who'd been waiting there the night prior, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw her before lurching to his feet. "Come on," she said frantically, yanking Cedric into the now-familiar room down the hall.

"Oh, hello," Gilderoy said brightly. "I thought you were out with a case of the womanlies?"

"A case of the wh- " she began reflexively, but cut herself off. "You know what, nevermind," she assured him quickly, glancing over her shoulder as she caught the sound of footsteps proceeding from down the hall; _Rowle_ , Draco had said the Death Eater's name was, though that wasn't particularly helpful information. "Gilderoy," she said desperately, glancing over at him. "You're some sort of actor, right?"

"A wizard, actually," he corrected tartly, "and a celebrated novelist. Though, more recently I _have_ indulged in the comic arts," he permitted, "so - "

"Good enough," she ruled, rejoicing that the second hospital bed was neatly unoccupied. "I need you to act, okay? If someone comes in that door," she said, gesturing frantically as she threw the blankets over her head, "I just need you to pretend that I was never here, and - "

She cut off as the door opened, holding her breath as she saw the faint outline of a blond head peeking in from beneath the blankets.

"Did a woman just walk in here?" Rowle asked.

"No," Cedric said, as Gilderoy parroted, "a woman?"

"Yes, a woman," Rowle continued, stepping inside the hospital room. "Curly brown hair? She's a doctor here," he added. "Was a doctor just here?"

"No," Cedric said, which should have been sufficient, but dishearteningly was not.

"No," Gilderoy agreed loudly. "In this room there is only me, my gay lover, and death."

Hermione shut her eyes, fighting the urge to groan.

"Your gay lover," Rowle echoed, "and _death_?"

"Just his lover," Cedric assured the Death Eater. "Really, it's very normal."

"It's no such thing," Gilderoy protested. "My gay lover and I," he repeated firmly, "have only just been through a terrible trauma."

Hermione firmly swallowed a thousand expletives.

"Trauma?" Rowle asked skeptically.

"I have just discovered that whilst I have been lying here, _cursed_ by immobility," Gilderoy orated with gusto, "my gay lover has been romancing the woman in the next bed. And I discovered this," he added, his volume rising, "because she died nary an hour ago, deep in the throes of passion, shamelessly entangled with this man, my _gay lover_ \- "

"Honey," Cedric cooed, through somewhat gritted teeth. "Darling. Please. This is all very private - "

"All while I slept," Gilderoy went on, wailing. "And while perhaps one unfamiliar with my inherent complexity would think I would be destroyed - indeed, driven to emaciation and madness, and a terrible, crippling _muteness_ by such a devastating tragedy - "

"One would think," Cedric muttered under his breath. "Or rather, one would _hope -_ "

" - I simply ache for them, these star-crossed lovers; for who am I to lay, helplessly inept, between two whom fate hath bound? To think, good sir, and to know in my heart of hearts that he _loved her_ , and yet still she had the audacity to abandon him for the arms of _death_ \- "

"Sweetheart," Cedric said firmly. "You know I love you - "

"Hush, my gay lover," Gilderoy commanded. "There's no need to coddle me. I may be a man without a pleasing sexual orifice," he lamented, "but I am not a man without heart - nay, I am not without _soul_ \- "

"Clearly there are no doctors here," Cedric cut in, addressing the Death Eater. "No medical professionals whatsoever."

"You might consider calling one," Rowle replied grimly.

"How dare you stand there and fail to weep?" Gilderoy shouted at him. "Are you truly so heathenous as to not grasp the horrible twinings of this trauma? Are you so heartless as to remain unmoved by the cruel majesty of fate, and by the inconceivable knowledge that he _loved her_ , and still she DIED - "

"Wonderful," Rowle interrupted, pointedly avoiding the bed Hermione had lain in and taking several long strides to the door. "Well, best of luck," he called loudly, and then, under his breath, "you fucking maniac," he added at a mutter, letting the door shut behind him.

Hermione waited, and then -

"He's gone," Cedric told her, and she lifted the sheets from her head with a sigh. "And excuse me, but _what the fuck_ ," he demanded, turning to Gilderoy. "What was with all that 'gay lover' stuff?"

"Realism, dear boy," Gilderoy sniffed. "People clamor for it."

Cedric paused, mouth tentatively agape, and then seemed to think better of it, cocking his head.

"Do you like pancakes?" he asked tangentially, and Hermione groaned.

"We have to go," she snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind her. "Thanks, Gilderoy," she added over her shoulder, and he let out a winded sigh.

"No applause," he noted darkly, "but genius is ever cursed to suffer, trudging forward unacknowledged in its own time - "

" _Goodbye_ , Gilderoy," Hermione said again, and yanked Cedric into the corridor after her, pausing briefly before darting towards the stairs.

"What's wrong with that guy?" he asked her, and she shook her head, breathing hard as she raced up the steps.

"Everything," she told him. "And also, inexplicably, nothing."

"Did he say he was a wizar- "

"Wait here," she said, throwing open the door to the stairwell and pausing as they reached the hospital's administrative offices. "Keep an eye out, okay?"

"Yes, fine," he muttered, and looked down, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Ah, fuck, Fleur's calling - "

"We're fine," she told him. "Just - tell her I need a few minutes and then we'll be back. Just _stay here_ , and - "

"Yes, yes, I've got it," he told her impatiently, picking up his phone. "Yes, my angel?" he said into the receiver. "Okay, shit, _calm down -_ "

Hermione slipped inside the office, forcing a smile she hoped was innocent enough as she met the eye of the administrative assistant inside the main door.

"Hi," she offered, noting that the admin didn't look up. "I'm Dr Granger, and I just needed to look over an autopsy from a surgery I assisted recently, and - "

"Nobody's in yet," the admin cut in, raising her mug of coffee blindly to her lips.

"Sure, of course," Hermione said quickly. "I just - I'm a surgical intern and, you know, trying to learn," she lied. "Just wanted to see how procedure's recorded - "

The admin set down her mug, glancing up with irritation. "Nobody's in yet," she repeated.

"I'm sure I can find it myself," Hermione suggested hopefully, and the admin shrugged.

"Those reports are mostly for lawyers," she said, and Hermione's chest tightened apprehensively. "But fine," the admin conceded, returning to her mug of coffee and dabbing at what appeared to be a jam stain on her navy blouse. "Suit yourself, I suppose - "

"Thank you," Hermione rushed out, exhaling gratefully. "This office?" she asked, pointing to the door, and the admin nodded, turning back to her screen as Hermione slid inside and headed straight for the file cabinet marked _A-D_.

She picked up the file marked _Dumbledore, Albus_ and opened it, her breath rising up uncomfortably in her throat, and noted immediately that the folder was impossibly sparse. She was certain from even the ambiguous description Theo had provided that Dumbledore's death would surely have led to all kinds of administrative headaches; an M&M conference, for one thing, which were not such common occurrences as to have escaped her attention. She flipped through for the EMT's notes first, glancing carefully over the scrawled handwriting.

 _GSW to the chest. DOA._

She blinked in confusion; if he'd died on arrival, _how had -_

She flipped to the coroner's notes; initially these seemed to match the EMT's assertion, but then the handwriting had changed, as if more had been added after the fact. The opening remarks were scribbled out, later replaced by a generic description of surgical error and a subsequent infection, and signed and dated two days after the incident.

 _Impossible_ , she thought, finding the two reports absurdly mismatched. The existence of both was fraud to the most inconceivable degree, or if not fraud, utter carelessness by administration -

 _Tom's dangerous_ , she heard Theo interrupt in her mind, scowling knowingly at her. _He's powerful._

She glanced at the report again. _GSW to the chest. DOA._

Impossible that both accounts could be true. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, taking a quick shot of the EMT report, and opened up a message to send to Draco before getting distracted by the sound of voices outside.

"Yeah," she heard behind her, and promptly froze, listening over her shoulder. "Brunette doctor, right? She's just in there."

"Ah, excellent," the male voice replied. "Thanks, darlin'."

Hermione swallowed hard, looking around for something to use as a weapon and then wondering, for the first time, when she'd learned that particular impulse.

"Do you need me to get her, or - ?"

"No, no, that's fine," Rowle replied. "I'll just wait out in the hall for her. No rush," he added slyly, and then Hermione heard the door shut, her breath returning in a sudden flood of panic.

She quickly pressed send on her phone before noticing she had a message from Cedric.

 _ **Death Eater's back on the floor**_ _,_ he'd said, rather unhelpfully at this point. _**Is there another way out of that office?**_

She grimaced. _**No**_ _,_ she replied, stuffing the file back into the cabinet and hurrying to her feet.

"Thanks so much," she called brightly to the admin, and then paused, lingering beside her desk. "I'm so sorry," Hermione added, feeling genuinely very regrettable, "but can I get you to do me one more favor?"

The assistant looked up, glowering. "What?"

Hermione cleared her throat, glancing nervously at the windowed panel of the door. Rowle, who was standing with his back against the opposite wall, fluttered his fingers at her, waving with an unnervingly cheery smile.

"Um," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "Can you page Dr Patil?"

* * *

"Hey," Draco said, walking into the shop's front office. "You're at it early."

Darian straightened, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist as he looked up from a series of invoices. "Draco," he remarked, surprised. "How'd last night go?"

"Uh - " Draco paused, nearly swaying on his feet as he realized it had only been the night before that he'd gone to Greyback's warehouse. "Good," he said, somewhat unsteadily, and Darian arched a brow.

"Everything okay?"

"I," Draco replied, and grimaced. "I don't think I should - "

He trailed off pointedly, and Darian, who had a keen ear for secrets, nodded reassuringly, gesturing for him to sit at the office desk.

"Fair enough," Darian agreed, wincing as he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. He paused for a moment, his gaze casually sweeping the desk's scattered materials, and then leaned forward, meeting Draco's eye. "Something else, I take it?"

Draco took a couple beats of silence, trying to gather his thoughts.

"This," he attempted slowly, "is going to sound weird. Or sudden."

"Ah," Darian acknowledged, and waited.

Draco grimaced.

"The Potter murder," he began. "James and Lily."

Darian's face contorted slightly.

"Ah," he said again, more uncomfortably this time.

Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is there anything," he asked quietly, "that you can tell me about what happened?"

Darian cleared his throat. "Is this - "

"It's important," Draco assured him, cutting him off without hesitation. "Really important. It's for - " he trailed off. "Well, it's for Potter."

At that, the corners of Darian's mouth twisted up in amusement.

"Potter?" he asked. "Really?"

"Don't," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "He did me a favor too, okay? And I'm just - "

"Investigating his parents' murder for him?" Darian supplied, arching a brow. "Hardly seems like a small favor."

Draco opened his mouth, and then paused. "So you know those are his parents' names, then," he noted, and Darian gave a nearly imperceptible flinch. "Did you already know that when you met him?"

That time, the flinch was unmistakable.

"Yes," Darian admitted. "But I didn't think it was important. I didn't know Potter or Evans very well," he explained. "We went to high school together, but that doesn't mean shit. Look at you and Weasley," he added pointedly, and Draco made a face.

"But you remember their deaths, then?"

Darian took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah," he admitted. "I had just joined the club. Dumbledore was kind of shook up over what happened to them. Liked 'em," he clarified. "Potter's family were old money, big-time Diagon folk, but Potter himself was the oddball. Not into town politics, married real young. Kids real young," Darian added, pointedly referencing Harry. "Sort of a shock for the town."

"What about Morfin Gaunt?" Draco asked. "Did you know him?"

"No," Darian said, shaking his head. "Guy was in prison for, I don't know, ten years? Maybe? Then he showed up one day. Stain on the town's dazzling reputation, you know," he added snidely, rolling his eyes, and Draco let out a soft huff of agreement.

"So," Draco pressed. "You think Morfin killed the Potters?"

"That's what they told us," Darian supplied evasively. "Slughorn had just been made chief and it was his first high profile case."

"That's what they told you," Draco echoed, "and you believed it?"

Darian paused, fidgeting.

"You clearly didn't," Draco noted, and Darian shook his head quickly.

"I don't personally have any thoughts on the matter," he told Draco, a bit hastily defensive. "But I do remember that Dumbledore had some doubts. He tried for a while to clear Gaunt's name. Guy had a son," Darian pointed out. "Dumbledore tried to get Amelia Bones to look into the case so that the son wouldn't have to grow up bullied in school."

Draco frowned. "Bullied?"

"Everyone knew," Darian supplied bitterly. " _Everyone_. Poor kid's mother was an addict, the rest of his family was dead. His legacy was a fucking crime spree, so _yeah_ ," he confirmed. "Kids of respectable Diagon families weren't having any of it." He paused, thinking back to it. "Real skinny, hungry-looking kid," he recalled softly. "The name Gaunt suited him," he added, laughing darkly.

Draco brought a hand to his mouth, considering the information. "And Dumbledore tried to help him?"

"Tried," Darian confirmed pointedly. "But Bones was promoted and the prosecutor after her didn't really have an interest in shit outside of closing the case. With nobody to prosecute, there wasn't much there to make it worth his while," he clarified, and Draco nodded. "They just let the case go cold. Figured the guy responsible was already dead."

"Standard DPD," Draco agreed, and they exchanged conspiratorial glances.

"Eventually the kid was getting into trouble, and Dumbledore couldn't have him in the club. Tom hated him," Darian added, seeming to suddenly remember. "Fucking _hated_ this kid. I heard him arguing with Dumbledore over it more than once. Well, once," Darian corrected himself. "But fucking _loud_ , and there was a while there where Tom and Dumbledore weren't getting on at all."

Draco grimaced; he could hardly imagine them having a worse relationship than the one they'd had while he himself had been in the club. "And then what?" he prompted.

Darian shrugged. "Drugs," he said. "Fights. Expulsion. Juvie."

"Ah," Draco said. "The usual."

"The usual," Darian agreed. "Fell off the map when he was still a pretty young teenager."

"And then he left, right?" Draco prompted, and Darian nodded.

"Yep. Moved to - "

He stopped.

"What?" Draco asked, leaning forward. "Where'd he go?"

"Nowhere," Darian said uneasily. "I don't know."

"Oh fuck off," Draco scoffed. "Come on, Mulciber - "

"Nope," Darian cut him off sharply. "I told you. I don't know where he is."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Darian stopped him with a look; _hold your tongue,_ Draco heard him say, ever the voice of warning.

That ear for secrets again, and with a tongue to match.

"Fine," Draco muttered, not entirely resigned. "So you saw him again, then?"

"Nope," Darian lied crisply, locking eyes with Draco.

Draco waited, holding his breath, and then let out a sigh.

"Fuck," he muttered, and Darian let out something of a mirthless laugh.

"What's your play here, Draco?" Darian pressed. "Because I can't really help you. I only know as much as the cops did. Or at least what they _said_ they did," he conceded, and then held up a hand as Draco immediately opened his mouth. "The answer is no," he assured Draco. "That was not meant to be cryptic."

"But have you ever seen the details?" Draco retorted. "The cops fucking _lied_ , Darian - "

"Well, big shock there," Darian cut in, scoffing. "But that doesn't mean I know anything. They died, it was tragic, and - " he broke off, shrugging. "It's just something that happened a long time ago."

"They were _murdered_ , Darian," Draco said, surprised at his own volume as he rose sharply to his feet. "It wasn't an accident - it was planned, the shots were _intentional -_ "

"And like I said," Darian said firmly, "I don't know anything about it. I know how fucked it was, Draco," he snapped. "I was there, I _knew_ them, and I don't - "

He stopped, shaking his head. "If I knew anything about what happened to them, I would tell you," he exhaled, withering. "I fucking would. But I _don't,_ " he repeated furiously, "so _sit down_."

Draco froze, a violent response curdling on his tongue, when he took in the regret on Darian's face.

"Fine," he muttered gruffly, resettling himself in the chair. "What about Morfin's son, then? Marvolo?" he asked, clearing his throat. "While he was a kid, I mean," he clarified. "Did you ever meet him? Speak to him at all?"

Darian blinked, brow furrowing as his stare went blank.

"What?" Draco asked, frowning. "What is it?"

It took a moment for Darian's chest to fill, like he'd been holding his breath; he swallowed, shaking himself of an inexplicable paralysis, and then locked eyes with Draco.

"Did you say his name was Marvolo?"

* * *

"Thanks for stopping off with me," Harry said, and Ron shrugged, climbing out of the passenger seat and nudging his aviators down from the top of his head.

"No problem," he said. "Though - " he gestured to the folder in Harry's hand. "Going to tell me what we're doing here?"

Harry sighed, pausing as he turned to face him. "You're my partner," he said. "You know that, right? You get what that means."

"Yeah," Ron said, bemusement filling his features. "Yeah, I get it."

"So," Harry said slowly, "if I tell you - "

It took a moment, and then Ron nodded, seeming to grasp the point.

"Look," Ron said quickly. "I asked you to trust me, and you said you would. I promised to trust your judgment, and I will. Tell me," he beckoned. "Even if I won't like it."

Harry took a deep breath, nodding once.

"Slughorn gave me my parents' case file," he explained. "I asked Malfoy to help."

There was a twitch of concern in Ron's forehead, which he seemed to urgently attempt to contain.

"Okay," Ron acknowledged slowly, shoving his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Why him?"

"You know as well as I do the department's got nothing," Harry said, and Ron grimaced in agreement. "I needed someone who was going to, you know - "

"Work around the system?" Ron prompted, and Harry winced, but nodded. "I mean, I get that," Ron permitted. "But he's a Death Eater, so - "

He trailed off pointedly, and Harry sighed.

"I think," Harry said warily, "that I can trust him not to put that first. I know," he added quickly, shaking his head before Ron could speak. "I know 'they've all got the same venom' or whatever snake metaphor you want to use - "

"No," Ron interrupted. "No, I wasn't - " he paused, letting a moment pass. "I'm not good at metaphors," he said eventually, giving Harry a weak smile, and Harry gave a similarly underwhelming chuckle. "I just - if you trust him, fine," Ron said, and shrugged. "If you do, I do. I hate him," he added brusquely. "I _definitely_ still hate him - "

"Fair," Harry agreed.

" - but, you know. Maybe," Ron said. " _Maybe_ in this one instance, he's not the most god-awful prick on earth. Or maybe he is," he amended, "but he's at least a useful one."

Harry clapped a hand around his shoulder, nodding appreciatively. "I know this is big for you," he said, nudging Ron towards the courthouse. "But you're in?"

"I'm your partner," Ron said. "Right?"

"Right," Harry said, relieved. "So - "

"So what's Malfoy got here?" Ron pressed, gesturing to the folder. "What are we here for?"

"Need these records unsealed," Harry said. "Trying to get Thicknesse to sign off on it."

"Huh," Ron said, mulling it over as they reached the clerk's desk. "For?"

"One sec," Harry told him, and then turned to the law clerk. "Deputy Chief Potter for Judge Thicknesse? I called earlier. This is Officer Weasley," he added, gesturing to Ron, and the clerk nodded warmly.

"Oh, sure," he said, gesturing toward the judge's chambers. "Go on in."

"Thanks," Harry said, and gestured for Ron to follow. "Shouldn't take long," he muttered, walking into Thicknesse's office. "Just need to get these unsealed, and then - oh, good morning, Your Honor," he offered, nodding as Thicknesse looked up from his desk. "I'm Deputy Chief Potter, and this is Officer Weasley - "

"Ah, Diagon's finest," Thicknesse said, rather pleasantly. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"

"Hopefully just a small thing," Harry said, and Thicknesse smiled indulgently. "I need a warrant to see an expunged juvenile record. The person in question is a witness in an open investigation," he explained, handing Thicknesse the file on Gaunt. "We're just looking to find out where he might be now, as there's no current address listed."

"Hm, should be simple enough," Thicknesse said, accepting the file and flipping it open. "We'll just have to - "

He broke off, catching the name in the file and frowning.

"This person," Thicknesse said, poring over the file. "He's part of an _open_ investigation?"

"He was a listed witness in an aggravated assault case against Zacharias Smith," Harry supplied in answer, feeling an eerie sense of discomfort at the question. "I don't necessarily expect you to recall the details, but - "

"The defendant is no longer with us, is he?" Thicknesse asked, abruptly looking up. Beside Harry, Ron frowned, glancing askance. "Is this really necessary?"

Harry's discomfort elevated to alarm.

"Sorry to trouble you, Your Honor," he attempted quickly. "Draco Malfoy suggested I come to you, actually, as we think the person in question may play a role in another case the Diagon PD is investigating."

"Draco Malfoy," Thicknesse repeated uneasily, his eyes darting instantly to his phone. "Yes, okay," he muttered after a beat. "Let me just, um - "

Thicknesse rose suddenly to his feet, twitching toward the exit, and then promptly sat back down. "If you could just permit me a moment to call someone," he said. "I just want to be sure I'm following protocol. Just took over, you see," he added, forcing a spirited laugh, "so just let me double-check - "

He gestured for Harry and Ron to sit, and they tentatively complied, Ron's frown deepening as he glanced questioningly at Harry.

"Who's this about?" he mouthed, as Thicknesse entered a number on speed dial.

"Marvolo Gaunt," Harry whispered back, and Ron shrugged, not recognizing the name.

"Yes, hi, it's Pius," Thicknesse said into the phone. "Just wanted to let you know I've got Deputy Officer Potter in here with me asking about an expunged juvenile record." There was a pause. "Yes, it's for a, um," Thicknesse trailed off, glancing rather deliberately at the file. "Marvolo Gaunt." Another pause. "Yes, well, I thought it might be worth mentioning since Draco Malfoy suggested it, and - "

A long pause. Harry and Ron glanced uneasily at each other, both sensing something off about the slow loss of color from Thicknesse's cheeks.

"Right," Thicknesse said, pulling uncomfortably at his beard. "Right, thanks." He hung up the phone, forcing a smile as he turned back to Harry and Ron. "One minute, Officers," he said, and then turned to his computer. "Just have to get into the records here, and - " he paused, clearing his throat. "Five minutes," he assured them, rising suddenly to his feet. "You just hang tight, and - "

He trailed off, and then abruptly exited his chambers.

"Well," Ron said. "This is nice."

"This," Harry judged at a mutter, watching the door fall shut behind Thicknesse, "was probably a terrible mistake."

* * *

"What the fuck is going on?" Padma asked, handing Hermione her own lab coat and waiting as Hermione put it on, tucking her phone into the pocket. "I thought you called in sick this morn- "

"I need your help," Hermione whispered, pulling her into the hallway and pointedly not looking at Rowle. "Pretend you're briefing me on rounds," she added, frowning as she watched Rowle pick up his phone. "Wait, stop - "

"Ah, great, you've finally snapped," Padma noted drily. "While I'm relieved you're no longer my competition, I'd still love to know what's happeni-"

"Shh," Hermione whispered urgently, and then shook her head. "I mean, pretend to talk about medicine, but also, _shh_ \- "

" - now?" Rowle asked the person on the other line. "How many?" A pause. "Everyone? What do you mean Tom said t- no, I'm fucking _listening_ , but who's still at the Manor?" Another pause. "Yes," he muttered impatiently, "I'm aware of my motherfucking instructions, but I - " A brief pause, and then a grunt. "Yes, she's here."

"Hermione, are you okay?" Padma asked, frowning at her. "Look, no joke, this is - this is _weird,_ okay - "

"There you are," Dean said, materializing suddenly from the elevator. "I heard Patil got paged up here, and I thought you were - "

"I need help," Hermione said, swallowing as she glanced between them. "Please."

Dean's expression shifted rapidly from amusement to concern; Hermione glanced over her shoulder, pointedly letting her gaze settle on Rowle, and Dean followed her line of sight, nodding slowly as he recognized the look's significance.

"Okay," he said, his brow furrowed. "What do you need?"

Padma eyed Hermione silently, waiting for her to speak; Hermione, in turn, nudged them towards the elevator as Rowle stood, slowly following.

"I need to get out," Hermione whispered, and Dean and Padma exchanged glances.

"Done," Dean said, and Padma nodded.

"Let's go," she said, holding the elevator door open.

* * *

"This doesn't look good," Ron said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Right? Looks shifty."

"Does," Harry agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "Shit," he murmured, glancing down at it. "You get anything from Slughorn?"

"Huh?" Ron asked, checking his. "No."

Harry frowned, reading the text.

 _ **Death Eaters are prepping for something.**_

Discomforting news, at best.

 _ **What does that mean?**_ Harry replied.

 _ **They're leaving the Manor**_ , Slughorn said. _**En masse.**_

"Death Eaters are leaving the Manor," Harry said aloud, and Ron frowned.

"We supposed to babysit them or something?" he asked, scowling.

"Dunno," Harry replied, and dialed Draco's phone number. He paused, waiting, as the phone rang. "Malfoy's there now," Harry mentioned casually, though he wasn't quite sure what to make of that information.

Neither, it seemed, was Ron.

"Seems . . . _good_ , though, right?" Ron guessed. "If they're being called away?"

The call went to voicemail, and Harry frowned.

"Not sure," he said, and then replied to Slughorn.

 _ **Is Tom with them?**_

He waited, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

 _ **No.**_

"Fuck," Harry muttered, feeling suspicion mount. "No, it's not good." At Ron's puzzled glance, Harry turned to face him. "Tom's not with them," he clarified, and Ron frowned.

"So?" he asked, and Harry rose to his feet.

"We might have to leave now," Harry muttered, shifting in apprehension and glancing at the door. "If Tom's sending them away, but _he's_ not going - "

Harry trailed off, and Ron stood, though he looked no less bewildered. "So what does that mean?"

"It _means_ ," Harry explained emphatically, "that he doesn't want witnesses. If he's emptying the Manor but he's not also leaving himself, then - "

He abruptly stopped talking as Thicknesse re-entered the office, holding a file in his hand.

"Sorry for the delay," the judge said, looking oddly jittery. "Here are the records you were looking for."

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting the file from him and flipping it open. He stopped, his eye catching on the mugshot, and then forced himself to glance up and smile. "Thanks," he repeated, nudging Ron. "Have a good day, Your Honor."

"And you," Thicknesse agreed, as Harry attempted to unsuspiciously haul Ron out of the room.

"Well?" Ron demanded, pulling his arm free once they'd made it through the doors. "What are we - "

"Look," Harry said, shoving the folder into Ron's chest. "Look familiar?"

Ron flipped it open, scanning the page and pausing, as Harry had done, on the teenaged mugshot. "Wait a minute," Ron said, staring at it. "Is that - ?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, grimacing. "But right now, we have to get to the Manor."

* * *

"Christ, Cedric," Fleur shouted into the phone. "Are you fucking kidding me? What do you mean you _lost h-_ no, NO, _you_ stop shouting!"

Theo looked up as there was a knock at the door.

"That him?" he asked, and Fleur glared at him, removing the receiver from her ear.

"He has _keys_ , Theo," she reminded him sharply, and waved a hand, gesturing impatiently for him to get the door. "No, Cedric," she yelled into the phone, "YOU LISTEN TO ME - "

Theo walked to the door, checking the peephole and then groaning softly as he pulled it open.

"What?" he snapped, and Viktor grimaced.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Viktor asked gruffly. "Thought you'd be heading to Knockturn with the others."

"The others?" Theo echoed, scowling. "What others?"

"CEDRIC, I WILL WEAR YOUR TESTICLES AS A HAT - "

"What's up with her?" Viktor asked, gesturing, and Theo shrugged.

"Girl stuff," he said, and Viktor rolled his eyes.

"Look, I need Fleur," he said. "That shit we got into Gringotts two days ago is getting moved today and I need her to check that the inventory's correct."

"And you came to personally collect her?" Theo observed drily. "You know she has a phone, right?"

"Oh, fuck off," Viktor said brusquely. "Just let her know, then, would you? Your other blond prick came in already - "

"'Other' blond prick?" Theo asked. "What the fuck are you going on about?"

"The older blond one," Viktor said. "You know. Beard," he said, gesturing. "Man bun."

"Lucius?" Theo asked, and Viktor shrugged. "Since when does he go to Gringotts?"

"Fuck if I care," Viktor said flatly. "Showed up with a fucking shitload of AKs and casings two days ago - "

"Lucius did?" Theo asked, disbelieving. "Two days a- "

He cut himself off, frowning.

 _Someone's already been here_ , Draco had said, his grey eyes wide as he'd surveyed the cabinet in Greyback's office. _All the shit in here's been moved recently -_

 _I applaud you on robbing me first, by the way,_ Theo heard Greyback contribute, reliving his wolfish sneer, _but it won't matter, as I can see you're going to let me go -_

Theo shook himself of the memory, staring down Viktor. "So you were just doing what, then?" he demanded. " _Holding_ all that shit?"

"Yeah," Viktor confirmed, shrugging. "Happens sometimes when people need to move shit around. When they're expecting cops," he clarified, waving a hand carelessly. "That sort of thing."

"I get it," Theo said brusquely. "I just - " he paused, grimacing, before deciding to go with the graceless nudge to his subconscious. "Hey," he mused tangentially, and Viktor's expression soured in apprehension. "You ever done any work with Greyback?"

If Viktor was surprised by the question, he didn't show it.

"Nah," he said. "Not since some deal went to shit in the '90's. Griphook doesn't like him."

"What about his associates?" Theo asked. "Smith? Scabior? Really muscled," he explained, gesturing to his chest. "One's blond, horrible, smarmy. A real dick." Viktor shrugged. "The other's got reddish-brown hair, about this tall, usually sort of overdressed, uncomfortably large biceps - "

"Smith and Scabior, you said?" Viktor asked, and Theo nodded. "Nah. But the man you're describing sounds like the guy that came in with your head Death Eater once. Thought he _was_ one, actually," he added. "Didn't have the same tat, but, you know. You all blend together. Name's Grant, though," Viktor recalled, frowning. "No, not Grant," he amended. "Definitely a G, though. Maybe - "

"Gaunt?" Theo asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Viktor snapped his fingers. "That's it," he said. "I remember thinking 'this guy's not gaunt at all,' and then - "

"He came in with Tom?" Theo pressed, and Viktor shook his head.

"No, not Tom. The old one," he clarified. "The dead one. Long time ago. They were having some sort of disagreement. Old guy wasn't interested - but then he died," Viktor recalled, as though that just occurred to him. "Shitty timing. Or good timing, I guess, depending - "

"Fuck," Theo interrupted, breathing hard. " _Fuck_."

* * *

"Yes," Draco said slowly, "Morfin's son's name is Marvolo Gaunt." He paused, watching Darian's expression dissolve to a bloodless fade. "I thought you knew him?"

Darian shook his head. "No," he emitted roughly, and then cleared his throat. "No," he clarified, more steadily this time. "I saw him a bunch with Dumbledore, but I've only spoken to him directly once. And by then," he continued, the words drifting into a deep, steadying breath, "he was already going by another name."

"Okay," Draco murmured, sensing Darian's discomfort and treading as lightly as possible. "But why does it matter that his name's Marvolo? What difference does it make?"

Darian blanched, and Draco looked down as his phone buzzed, seeing that he had a message from Hermione.

"Sorry, just a second," he muttered quickly, opening the image she'd sent. There was no message, only a photo of what looked like a medical report. "I don't know what this - " he broke off, zooming in as he saw the name _Dumbledore_ handwritten across the top. "Is," he finished, his pulse racing as he processed the information.

 _ **Patient Name:**_ _Dumbledore, Albus._

 _ **Responsible Party:**_ _unknown._

 _ **Dispatch:**_ _emergent._

"What is it?" Darian asked, frowning across the desk.

 _ **Comments:**_ _arrived on scene at "The Manor," two witnesses present; Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

Draco stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he read the same words over and over, at least ten times each -

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle._

 _Lucius Abraxas Malfoy._

 _GSW to the chest. DOA._

He blinked.

Looked up.

Blinked again.

Darian watched him, frowning.

"Marvolo," Draco managed to say aloud, forcing moisture to his throat as he swallowed. "That's - it's Tom's middle name, isn't it?"

Darian hesitated, and then nodded, pulling out a file from the desk and handing it to Draco. "I didn't know," he said quietly, and Draco felt his chest tighten, looking down at the business license that had been filed under the name _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

"Who is he?" Draco asked, looking up at Darian. "Marvolo Gaunt. Who is he?"

He followed the motion of Darian's hand as it drifted up to the scar on his chest.

 _So_ , Draco had said the day Darian returned from the hospital, the first time he'd watched him rub that scar. _It was Greyback, then?_

 _Couldn't say_ , Darian had returned uneasily, not meeting Draco's eye. _Knocked me out from behind first._

Even then it had been strange.

 _But if you were to guess_ , Draco had attempted, and Darian hadn't let him continue.

 _I don't guess_ , he'd said flatly, and Draco knew - he _should have known_ \- that there was more to the story.

"Draco," Darian said, and by the metallic edge to his tone, Draco was certain something Darian knew was far worse than he'd thought. "You have to understand," Darian urged, "I had no idea. If I'd known - " he shook his head furiously. "If I'd thought there was any fucking connection, I _swear_ \- "

"Who is he, Mulciber?" Draco interrupted, his mouth dry. "Who is Marvolo Gaunt?"

Darian hesitated, his mouth forming a tight, thin line.

"When Greyback stabbed me," Darian said, his fingers curling restlessly against the place where Tom Riddle's name had been carved into the skin of his chest, "he was there. He told me if I told anyone who he really was, I'd - he'd - "

"Scabior," Draco exhaled, putting the pieces together and instantly feeling sick. "It's Scabior, isn't it? He's related to Tom," he realized. "Somehow, they must be related, and - "

"That might not mean anything," Darian cut in quickly, but Draco rose to his feet, kicking the chair aside and pacing.

"Should have known," Draco growled. "What the fuck kind of name is _Scabior_ , anyway, and - " he spun quickly, rounding on Darian. "And what about Dumbledore, then?" he demanded. "Did you know about him, too?"

"What about him?" Darian asked, looking genuinely bemused. "I already told you, he'd tried to help Scab- _Marvolo_ ," he amended, "but it wasn't - Tom was - "

"What's my father's role in this?" Draco pressed, slamming a fist down on Darian's desk and leaning towards him. "He's glued to Tom's side," he ranted, "he had to've _known -_ "

"I don't know, Draco, but please," Darian urged, reaching for him. "Calm _the fuck_ down - nothing good can come of this - "

But Draco was rattled, unsettled and jittery, and all the murder and loss and fear and the troubling lack of sleep had built up and crashed atop his head, manifesting in a dizzying strike of certainty.

"I have to find my father," Draco said, shaking his head firmly and taking three rapid strides backwards, heading for the door. "I have to speak to him _now_."

"Draco," Darian shouted behind him. "Would you just fucking stop for a second - "

But there was no turning back. Draco threw the office door open and headed for the boardroom, the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Again,_ _ **PLEASE NO SPOILERS**_ _if you leave a review! Chapter 26 coming shortly. Dedicated to smileyluvstwilight, theblade-and-thewhelk, and estrunk!_


	26. Burn Fast

_**a/n:**_ _I apologize for the violence._

* * *

 **Chapter 26: Burn Fast**

* * *

 _ **(10...)**_

"Dad," Draco said sharply, his footsteps thudding against the hardwood. "I need to talk to you."

Lucius looked up from where he stood in the boardroom doorway, his gaze seeming to travel a long way before his attention settled on Draco's approaching stride. "What are you doing here?" he asked, more gruff than startled. "I thought - "

"Did you know?" Draco demanded, not wasting time with pleasantries. "About Dumbledore. I know you were there, Dad," he snarled, and Lucius' expression stiffened, his mouth opening and closing in wordless denial. "I saw the medical reports and _you were_ fucking _there -_ "

Lucius looked over Draco's shoulder, furiously scanning the room, and then grabbed his arm, yanking him inside the boardroom.

"Watch your mouth, Draco," Lucius hissed, letting the door fall shut behind them. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?"

"You tell me," Draco snapped maniacally, glaring back at him. "You knew this whole time? About Dumbledore? And Scabior?"

"Scabior? Draco, what the _fuck_ \- "

"You were there," Draco shouted again, feeling helpless and empty and bitten by deception. "You were _there -_ "

"Yes, I was there," Lucius snarled, gritting his teeth as his fingers tightened around Draco's arm. "Okay? _Fine_ , I was there - but you getting all fucking worked up like this isn't going to _help_ , Draco - "

"Did you help him do it?" Draco asked, feeling a cool rush of numbness spread through his bones as everything he'd trusted as true - trusted as _real -_ suddenly fled his constitution, dissipating in the air between him and his father. "Who pulled the trigger?"

Lucius' eyes flashed, lines of guilt or greed carved hard into his cheeks.

"Tom," he said slowly, but resumed his grip, insistent. "But you have to understand that Dumbledore was letting this club fall apart, Draco - he was letting us _drown_ , and Tom pulled us out - he made us fucking _powerful_ again - "

"You call this powerful?" Draco demanded. "How many brothers have been hurt? Been _killed_? Dad, fucking _wake up -_ "

"That's on Greyback, not us," Lucius said flatly. "That was Greyback, and he's dead."

"And what about Scabior?" Draco challenged. "If you knew this whole time who he was - if you _knew_ he was working with Tom, why the fuck did you let us put our lives in danger? What did you let _me_ ," he heaved roughly, "put _myself_ in danger? I'm your fucking _son_ , Dad!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Lucius asked, blinking, and Draco stared at him, trying to gauge the truth of his reaction. "What do you mean he was working with Tom?"

"I know they're related, Dad," Draco spat. "I already know, so just drop the act, would you?"

"They're not related," Lucius parroted blankly, his hold suddenly loosening from around Draco's arm. "That's impossible, Tom doesn't have any family - "

The door opened, and they froze.

"You're right," Tom interrupted, and Draco reflexively stepped back, his hand floating cautiously to the Glock at his waistband. "I don't have any family, and I see now what a pity it is indeed. Hopefully you won't mind me intruding on yours," he mused, and then let his blue eyes flick to Draco's motion. "Oh, no, that won't do," he tutted quietly, shaking his head and gesturing. "Lucius?" he beckoned, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "If you wouldn't mind divesting Draco of his weapon. He doesn't look to be in the proper state of mind to operate it."

"That's," Draco began, his mouth suddenly going dry. "No, I'm not - "

"Lucius," Tom said impatiently, beckoning again, and Lucius' expression tightened, but he held his hand out, turning to Draco.

"Give it to me," he said, toneless, and Draco shook his head.

"Dad, I don't think - "

"Give it to me," Lucius repeated, more firmly this time, and Draco grimaced, reaching behind him to dislodge the gun and then placing it, unhappily, in his father's waiting palm. "He's just worked up," Lucius offered to Tom, shifting towards him in the room. "He had a rough night, and with Goyle gone - "

Tom said nothing, gesturing. "If you would," he said to Lucius, his gaze flicking pointedly to Draco's gun. "Please?"

There was a tiny crinkle of confusion in Lucius' brow. "Tom?"

"The gun, Lucius," Tom said flatly. "I think it will be better in my hands."

Draco opened his mouth, feeling a surge of panic, but the crease of concern had already been swept from Lucius' expression, and he dutifully handed it to Tom.

"Like I said," Lucius began, and Tom sighed.

"The father and son dynamic is very touching, isn't it?" he asked, and glanced pointedly at Draco. "You'll have to let me know later what this feels like. For science," he added, his lips curling into a darkened smile.

"No," Draco rasped, his voice trapping in his throat. "No, I - you can't - "

"Tom," Lucius ventured uncertainly, frowning, and Tom raised the gun, tearing his gaze from Draco's face to look into the near-identical eyes of the man beside him, his tireless lieutenant.

"Sorry, Lucius," Tom lamented softly, and pulled the trigger, the sounds of gunshots and Draco's pounding heart ricocheting in the room as his father dropped, broken, to the floor.

* * *

 _ **(9...)**_

"Lucky I've got these," Hermione sighed, tying her hair in a ponytail and brushing some non-existent dust from the spare scrubs she kept in her locker. "Here," she added, handing Padma back her lab coat and pulling out her own, shrugging it on over her shoulders. "So you really think you can do this?"

"I'm insulted you'd even ask," Padma sniffed, rolling her eyes. "I've done far more difficult things, you know. I was valedictorian _three times_ , and - "

"I get it, you're a genius," Hermione assured her, and then shuddered slightly, reminded of her impending escape. "God," she groaned, "I can't decide whether it would be worse to get murdered or get caught by Pomfrey, honestly."

"Pomfrey," Padma assured her. "You'd get to keep on living, but it wouldn't be worth it."

"Grim," Hermione muttered, taking a steadying breath and then aiming herself at the door. "You're sure about this?"

Padma nodded. "There's an exit outside the restricted corridor by OR-2. They use it to bring in equipment," she clarified. "Hospital staff only."

"Okay," Hermione confirmed breathlessly. "Okay, and - "

"Are you sure you need to do this?" Padma urged, reaching out to grip her wrist. "I know you said that guy's watching you, but you don't actually think he would try anything _here_ , do you?"

 _Not exactly,_ Hermione thought, chewing her lip; though, in fairness, she couldn't be sure.

"It's not really about me," she eventually replied. "It's kind of a long story, but - "

"Who is this about, then?" Padma pressed. "I mean, is your license at risk here? Is _mine_?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said, and then grimaced. "At least, I hope not."

"Well," Padma muttered, "it better be important - "

"It is," Hermione assured her. "Really. And I swear, I won't make you do this again, and I'll make it up to you, I promise - "

"Oh, shut up," Padma grumbled, shaking her head. "You're like, my friend. Or whatever," she amended, waving a hand carelessly.

"I'm your _friend_ ," Hermione echoed, disbelieving, "not just your social consult?"

"Eh," Padma confirmed evasively, and then cocked her head, nudging Hermione toward the door. "Ready?"

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and then shoving the door open, catching sight of Rowle where he sat, still patiently observing the corridor, as she headed into the lobby.

"Dr Granger," Dean called, flagging her down as she passed. "They need you in surgery."

"Thanks, Dr Thomas," she returned, nodding once. "The bladder cystectomy?"

 _What do you mean 'ew'?_ Dean had said when he'd suggested it. _It's like, one of the top ten hardest surgeries - you'd be at it for hours -_

 _Still,_ Hermione said. _Ew._

"Yes," he confirmed curtly, and then turned to Padma. "And they're waiting for you in OR-3, Dr Patil."

"Thanks Dr Thomas," she said smoothly, and she and Hermione proceeded to turn towards the surgical wing, Hermione's heart resounding loudly in the hollow of her chest as she strained to hear what was happening behind her.

"Sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait out here," she heard Dean say. "The operating rooms are restricted."

"How long?" Rowle asked gruffly. "I'm nervous about that, um, bladder thing - "

"Several hours, I'm afraid," Dean replied, "but Dr Granger will be out as soon as it's over to reassure you, I promise - "

"Fine," Rowle grunted, taking a seat, and Hermione felt her breath quicken in relief, picking up the pace as she and Padma passed through the doors, delivering her to freedom.

* * *

 _ **(8...)**_

"This is that guy, isn't it?" Ron asked. "That goon from Knockturn who was at Rosmerta's," he recalled, and Harry nodded. "Damn," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "He's put on a few dozen pounds of bicep since this was taken, eh?"

"It's definitely Scabior, yeah," Harry confirmed uneasily, leaning into a sharp right turn. "I can't imagine what that means for the Death Eaters."

Ron frowned. "How do you know it's related?"

"Come on, Ron," Harry scoffed, eyeing him. "Aren't you the one who told me Thicknesse is in Riddle's pocket?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed, shrugging. "But I thought that's why you dropped Malfoy's name."

"Well, that was probably a mistake," Harry muttered. "I'd be willing to bet that the phone call Thicknesse made was to Tom. I mean, it's not like it's that hard to unseal a juvenile record," he explained uneasily, "and there's nobody conceivably above Thicknesse to call, so - "

"So say he called Tom, then," Ron suggested. "What happens now? Doom and gloom?"

"If Thicknesse called Tom," Harry pronounced slowly, "then there's definitely something to this. It's not a coincidence that Tom's emptying the Manor right after taking that call," he ruled gruffly. "Can't be."

Ron arched a brow. "You sound pretty fucking sure about that."

"I am," Harry admitted. "I just - I know I don't have anything concrete, but I'm going with my gut on this one." He chewed the inside of his cheek, one hand tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. "Tom Riddle isn't like other people," he said, and Ron turned, glancing at him. "He's not even like other criminals. He's going to do the unthinkable, and he's going to get away with it, whatever the unthinkable ends up being at the time."

Ron blanched, perturbed. "You seem to have his number," he remarked pointedly, and Harry sighed.

"Yeah, well, I hope I'm wrong," Harry muttered under his breath as he slowed through a busy intersection, the sound of the siren wailing as he weaved past traffic. "I really fucking hope I'm wrong."

* * *

 _ **(7...)**_

"There you are," Cedric hissed, joining Hermione outside as she snuck out of the OR corridor. "What the fuck have you been doing dancing around in there?"

"Were you following me?" she asked, making a face, and he rolled his eyes.

"Bounty hunter," he reminded her, gesturing pointedly to himself, and then grimaced. "I mean - highly skilled accountant," he corrected.

"Yeah, that ship has _sailed_ ," Hermione assured him, heading for the parking lot. "Can you keep an eye out?" she asked, gesturing around as she darted through the line of cars.

"I've got both eyes out," he said, doggedly following after her, "but where the hell do you think you're going, princess? You got what you need," he said firmly, "so come on, I have to get you back to - "

"What I need is my car," Hermione interrupted, scanning the parking lot quickly and then heading to where she'd parked it.

Cedric lunged forward and spun, cutting her off. "Why?"

Hermione groaned, pushing him aside. "I just _do_ , okay?" she said. "And don't waste time, I'm trying to get _out -_ "

"Hermione," Cedric said firmly, taking hold of her arm and stopping her just before they reached her Subaru. "Why are you doing this?"

"I just - I have a bad feeling, okay?" Hermione returned uneasily. "I just - I need to see Draco. I need to make sure he's - " she broke off, grimacing. "I just need to get to him."

"You're risking your fucking life," Cedric informed her, looking uncharacteristically serious as he forced her to a stop again. "Something I'm pretty fucking sure he wouldn't want you to do, by the way - "

At that, she almost laughed. Standing there, frozen in the hospital parking lot and staring at her Subaru, she almost _laughed_ at how wrong Cedric was; at how consummately clueless he could be.

 _I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do some good in the world,_ she'd told Draco when they'd met, _but I chose surgery because I like the thrill. People don't expect that from me. They find me bookish and odd, or assume that I'd be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I'm told. But the truth is -_

 _You want adventure,_ she heard him whisper back to her, the sound of his voice as natural in her ear as though he were standing beside her, his grey eyes full of meaning and longing and her. _I know what that's like._

"Adrenaline junkie," she murmured under her breath, and shook herself of the thought, turning back to Cedric. "Look, just go with it, okay?" she said. "I'm _fine_. I'll just find out where he is, and - "

She reached into her pocket and grimaced, realizing she'd left her cell phone in Padma's lab coat. "Oh, for hell's sake - "

"What?" Cedric demanded. "What stupid thing have you decided to do now?"

"Nothing," she told him, and nudged him out of the way. "I just have to - "

"Hey," she heard behind them, and turned to see Rowle approaching from the hospital's main exit. "Where're you in a hurry to get to, darlin'?"

"Shit," Hermione whispered, hastily unlocking her car and pulling the door open. Cedric shoved her gracelessly inside, his hand shifting to the gun he'd concealed in his jeans. "What are you - "

"Go," he snapped, slamming the door shut. "I'll take care of this," he called to her, and then he took off, strutting impatiently towards Rowle. "Hey, you listen up, you dick," she heard Cedric say, and didn't wait for the answer.

She put the car in reverse and took off, leaving the Death Eater and the breakfast enthusiast who was very much _not_ an accountant behind to fight it out in the parking lot, blissfully managing not to hesitate as she aimed herself at the road and sped away.

* * *

 _ **(6...)**_

"Daph," Theo sighed into the phone, "I know I said I could do coffee today, but - "

"Hey, no, it's fine," she assured him. "You okay? You sound, you know. _Bad._ "

Theo groaned. "I lost Draco's girlfriend. It's a whole thing," he muttered, and turned to Fleur, who hung up her own phone call with a grimace.

"Draco has a girlfriend?" Daphne echoed. "No way. Who the fuck is she?"

"I - listen, I can't right now, but - "

"Cedric's lost her," Fleur said flatly, her beautiful mouth forming a breathtakingly lovely frown of something gruesome, tempered brilliantly with rage. "She just took off from the hospital parking lot and she has no fucking cell phone, so - "

"Theo?" Daphne asked, and he remembered he'd been speaking into the phone. "Is everything okay?"

"I - " he cut himself off, pulling the phone from his ear as it buzzed in his hand. "Sorry, Daph," he said, returning to her phone call. "Your boyfriend's on the other line, so - "

"Yeah, yeah, go - "

He brought the phone down, hanging up with Daphne and answering Potter's phone call.

"What?"

"Are you at the Manor?" Potter asked, his breath audibly quickened with nerves. "Are you with Draco?"

"No," Theo said slowly, finding the conversation - even with what little had occurred - to be miles beyond unsettling. "Why?"

"Marvolo Gaunt is Scabior," Potter said quickly, and Theo opened his mouth to gloat that _as usual, the police are the last to know_ , when he realized that would be wasting valuable time. "And Tom's got people leaving the Manor - "

"Draco's there," Theo realized aloud, and panicked; he checked his phone again, pointlessly, knowing with certainty he hadn't heard from Draco since they'd spoken earlier, and that that had been hours ago. "Draco's fucking _there_ , Potter - "

"I'm on my way," Potter said, his voice clipped, and Theo didn't bother with goodbye.

"I have to go," he told Fleur, and she promptly stood, walking into the kitchen and tucking a pistol into the back of her jeans.

"Then let's go," she said, and Theo shook his head.

"Get Cedric," he told her instead. "Find the doctor."

She frowned. "But - "

"Baby, if you fucking bleed for me, I'll lose it," he told her, shaking his head. "Get Cedric, get the doctor, and _get away_ , you got it?"

She grimaced. "Theo - "

He reached out, grabbing her face between his hands and kissing her, _hard_ , before letting it melt, drifting to sweetness; to the honeyed delicacy of devotion, and to promises he wished more than anything he could keep.

"I love you," he muttered into her mouth, and walked out the door, making certain to not look back.

* * *

 _ **(5...)**_

Draco forced himself to tear his eyes away from where his father lay still on the ground, the blood seeping into the wood as Lucius' eyes stared blankly upwards, the contortion of betrayal still etched around his mouth.

"Pity," Tom sighed. "I'm really quite irritated I've had to do that." He turned, aiming the pistol at the center of Draco's forehead. "I liked him, you know, and this is more than a little inconvenient."

Draco took a step back, stumbling as his hip met the table. "Tom," he said, his voice slurred with pain and disbelief, "there's no way you're walking away from two murders."

"You have no idea what I've walked away from," Tom scoffed, and then tilted his head, amending the statement. "Well, _some_ idea, I'd imagine," he corrected himself, running the fingers of his free hand along the lower swell of his lip. "Or wasn't that what you came in here yelling about to begin with?"

Draco blinked, traveling between worlds as he conjured the past five minutes to memory.

"Scabior," he croaked, and Tom sighed with irritation, shaking his head.

"So you do know about him, then," Tom commented grimly. "I'm most disappointed to hear that. The Potter boy, was it?" he asked, and Draco didn't answer. "I knew he'd be a problem," Tom muttered. "That was the entire reason for Slughorn's inane presence, but - " he shrugged. "I should have known better than to assume that spineless sycophant would be helpful for long."

Draco stared, struggling to process.

"You," he managed. "You've been working with Scabior. He's - you're his - "

"He's my cousin," Tom cut in, making a face, "but I'd hardly call it working together. That's a little too kumbaya for my tastes, don't you think?"

"But then - "

"You connected our names, I presume," Tom guessed, and Draco's expression faltered, confirming his presumption. "Yes, well," Tom sighed, "unfortunately for both of us we had to share that fucking name with the human shitstain that was the first Marvolo Gaunt. I don't blame him for discarding it."

"You knew him," Draco said hoarsely. "Dumbledore tried to take him in, but - "

"Dumbledore," Tom scoffed, "wanted me to _embrace_ him. When Dumbledore found me in Knockturn I was still looking for my parents," he added, his voice dropping off slightly. "I was an orphan in another town, living with nothing, and he found me and guided me to the _gratifying_ discovery that my mother was a low-class junkie whore and my father was some rich fraternity prick who couldn't operate a condom," he growled, "and who tossed her aside when things got bad." He paused again, threading his tongue through his lips and forcing a smile. "So, as you can see," he gritted out sarcastically, "I was extremely fucking grateful."

"Your mother?" Draco asked, and Tom's expression soured.

"Merope Gaunt," he supplied. "Daughter of the first Marvolo, sister of Morfin. Born of a line of garbage," he added darkly, "just like Marvolo _Junior_. And Dumbledore wanted me to _care_ about that little misbehaving son of a bitch," he spat. "Nevermind that his father was a fucking deadbeat, and a lowlife who didn't work a day in his miserable life - and that he fucking thought he could come to _me_ , like blood was some kind of favor he could fucking _call in,_ like I owed him _anything_ \- "

"You killed Morfin," Draco realized, taking a step back. "The shots, you made them look accidental - made them _look_ clumsy, but you - _you_ killed him, and - "

This time, Tom's smile was abhorrently genuine.

"You know," he drawled, "I love watching you put two and two together, Draco." He tapped impatiently on the trigger of his pistol. "It thrills me."

"But why the Potters?" Draco pressed. "Did they know? Is that why?"

"James and Lily Potter," Tom sneered mockingly, "were lovely, charming neighbors of mine who happened to step out from their apartment at the very moment that Morfin Gaunt was banging down my door shouting about how I _owed_ him. How I'd shown up back in the town that belonged to his dead fuck of a father and his dead whore of a sister and so I was _beholden_ to him, because he had a _son,_ and _-_ "

Tom broke off, his teeth gritted, and Draco's mouth flooded with horror.

"You killed them," Draco rasped, scarcely conjuring his voice. "You killed them just because they . . . saw something?"

"Because they _saw something_?" Tom demanded, enraged. "What they saw would have _ruined me_ ," he ranted. "I'd built a fucking life here - I had money, and influence, and _power_ , and all of that would have gone down the fucking drain if anyone ever found out I was a - " he stopped, looking as though the words were poison on his tongue. "A fucking _Gaunt_ \- "

"So you just killed them?" Draco repeated, disbelieving. "Just to shut them up?"

To his discomfort, Tom replied with a careless shrug. "I was less patient then," he supplied, glancing pointedly at Draco. "I've learned since that there are more mutually beneficial ways to silence someone."

"But you killed Dumbledore," Draco protested, "and you're telling me you _learned_? He took you in, and then you - "

"He tried to control me," Tom corrected, cutting him off. "But the world made sure I learned from my first breath that if you don't take power for yourself, people will strip it from you - so he couldn't fucking control me," he spat. " _No one_ can."

"He's - he _cared_ about you," Draco insisted. "This is a fucking brotherhood, Tom - "

"Oh don't tell me you believe that shit," Tom snapped. "This isn't some children's tale, Draco. This is what makes you _weak_."

Draco glanced down at Lucius, feeling unsteady, and counted in his head how many steps it would take to gain control of his father's gun. "It's - it's not weakness, Tom, it's - "

"Stop," Tom commanded firmly, pointedly letting the Glock's barrel travel across Draco's torso, toying with where to aim it, before tilting his head, angling it at the center of Draco's chest.

"You think you protect your heart," Tom murmured softly, "but you don't, do you? You leave it out for the taking and I know exactly which pieces to crush," he mused, coaxing his finger against the trigger, "one by one, until I own the whole thing."

Draco swallowed, and then, alarmingly, Tom laughed.

* * *

 _ **(4...)**_

Hermione knocked firmly on the door, holding her bag tightly at her side; she waited, her breath suspended, and then felt it catch in her mouth as the door opened.

"Oh," she exhaled, blinking in surprise. "I was - I was looking for - "

"Harry?" the woman at the door prompted, looking unmoved. "He's at work."

"Oh," Hermione said again, forcing a swallow. The woman, whoever she was, was stunning; it seemed it was a day to be confronted with beautiful women, though this one was at least considerably less terrifying than Fleur. "Sorry," Hermione offered awkwardly, "I just - I don't know where to find him, but last I checked he was with a, um - a _friend_ of mine, and I don't have my phone, so - "

"This is going to sound strange," the woman interrupted slowly, "but are you the person Theo's lost?"

Hermione paused. "Theo?"

"Yes, Theo Nott," the woman confirmed. "He mentioned he'd misplaced Draco's girlfriend."

Confirmation must have shown on Hermione's face.

"Ah," the woman judged briskly, stepping back. "Come in. I'm Daphne," she added, and Hermione nodded mutely, taking a step inside the house. "I'm Harry's - " she paused. "I think technically I'm the person in his protective custody, though I've seen his dick a few too many times to let it sound so horribly unmutual."

Hermione felt something like a laugh, though it escaped more like a bleated hiccup; she hid the awkward motion of what was almost certainly a pained grimace by stepping through the door, her gaze sweeping the room as she stepped inside. There was evidence now of a second person living here; still no throw pillows, or pictures on the walls, but there were two sets of dishes in the drying rack and a pair of women's shoes beside the sofa, and while Hermione had told Harry the first time she'd been there that he'd lacked any visible roots, she found that for some reason she couldn't say that anymore.

"I didn't know he was seeing someone," she began tentatively, and Daphne shrugged.

"I didn't know Draco was, either," she murmured, studying Hermione quietly. "Are you a doctor?" she asked, and Hermione looked down, withering slightly as she realized she was still in her scrubs and lab coat.

"Yeah," she said, fidgeting. "Yeah, I, um - "

She trailed off.

"So," Daphne ventured, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"

"Do you know where Harry is?" Hermione asked, feeling jittery, and strange. "I just - I found something out and I have a bad feeling about what it means, so - "

"Bad feeling?" Daphne echoed, frowning. "Is this about Marvolo Gaunt?"

"You know about him?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I thought Theo and Fleur had just figured it out, but - "

"Harry went to find out who he was," Daphne confirmed. "He left to meet with Draco this morning. Harry said he thought Marvolo had something to do with his parents' murder, and therefore Tom, so - "

"Tom?" Hermione repeated, her pulse racing. "Okay," she announced abruptly, shaking her head before pivoting in place. "I just - okay, then I have to go - "

Daphne's eyes widened. " _Wait_ \- "

She reached out, trying to stop her, and Hermione's bag - taken from beneath the passenger seat of her car - slid gracelessly from her shoulder, falling to the ground with a loud clatter as Hermione lunged forward, reaching hastily for it. She and Daphne both froze, breathless, as the pistol Draco had given her slid out from the bag's contents, lying ominously on the floor.

There was a moment of pause; of silent consideration.

"You're a _doctor_ ," Daphne said slowly. "Why do you have this?"

Hermione forced herself to let out a captive breath; her voice, when she finally spoke, felt several octaves too high.

"I can expl- "

"You'd better," Daphne confirmed flatly, bending to pick up the gun. "Do you even know how to use this?"

Hermione swallowed. "No," she confessed, and Daphne eyed it, her lips pursed as she considered something.

"Do you know where he is?" Hermione asked her quietly, and Daphne glanced up, locking eyes with her.

"Come on," Daphne said, handing the gun to Hermione and then rising to her feet, passing her the bag. "I'll take you."

* * *

 _ **(3...)**_

Harry pulled up outside the manor and leapt from the car the moment the ignition came to a stop, slamming the cruiser door behind him and reaching for the pistol in his holster.

"Harry," Ron called after him, a few steps behind as he shut the passenger door. "If this is as serious as you think it is, we should probably call for back-up - "

"Bad idea," Harry muttered over his shoulder, not slowing down. "If Tom catches wind of cops outside - "

"Harry," Ron said again, jogging to catch him and grabbing his arm. "What are you thinking about doing? No, listen to me," he snapped, his grip tightening as Harry shook his head, moving to pull away. "You can't take this into your own hands, Harry, we're _cops_ , we have _rules -_ "

"I'm not taking anything into my hands," he retorted firmly. "I'm not _planning_ anything, Ron, I just don't think it's a good idea to ambush him, okay? There's no telling what he'll do if he's cornered."

That was, to some extent, a lie; there was one thing in particular Harry considered that Tom might do, and he knew it wouldn't bode well for Draco.

"Just trust me, okay?" Harry insisted, freeing the gun from its holster and turning towards the Manor. "Trust me. Stay out here," he commanded decisively, taking a few steps to bring him to the Manor's front door. "That's an order."

"Harry," Ron called dubiously, and Harry turned, watching him shake his head. "I don't like this."

Harry grimaced. "I don't either," he said, and as his hand closed around the pistol's grip, he felt the earth shifting beneath his feet.

But his finger felt steady on the trigger.

* * *

 _ **(2...)**_

Theo pulled up to the Manor's garage and threw his helmet off, his pulse beating erratically against the side of his neck as he pulled the gun from his waistband, glancing around.

"Theo," Darian hissed, emerging from the shop's front office and heading towards him. "I heard a shot - "

"Stay here," Theo instructed roughly, forcing a swallow. "Okay? Just - stay _away_ \- "

"Christ, Theo, you can't be serious," Darian snapped. "This isn't the time for you to - "

"Darian," Theo interrupted. "Is Draco in there?"

"Yes, but - "

"Then you _stay the fuck here_ ," Theo snarled, "and I'm going inside. Do you understand me?"

"Theo, there's no way Tom's going t- "

"You fucking _know_ there's nothing Tom's not willing to do, Darian, and that's my brother in there," Theo told him furiously. "Stay here."

"Theo," Darian attempted, his tone different this time, and Theo glared expectantly at him. "Just - be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry," Theo replied coldly, sliding off the safety and tapping the trigger of his pistol as he turned towards the Manor. "This shit ends now."

* * *

 _ **(1...)**_

"What about Scabior," Draco attempted, clearing his throat. "Were you working with him? I know you were paying him through Griphook," he said, "and seeing as he's your cousin - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom scoffed. "Scabior's a Gaunt in every sense of the name. He came to me when he needed help, and I simply _obliged_ him where it met my needs - "

"You were paying him off," Draco tossed out recklessly. "For his silence?"

"Paying him off? No," Tom snapped. "That's a fucking finder's fee, and one I wasn't happy about giving, but it's at least an industry standard. The price for his silence was _Greyback,_ " Tom said flatly. "But that was at least no skin off my back."

"No skin off your back?" Draco repeated, stunned. "What about Nott? And Mulciber?"

"Does my back look skinned to you?" Tom retorted. "I said what I said, Draco."

"So all of this, then," Draco said. " _Everything_ , it was all about getting rid of Greyback?"

Disconcertingly, Tom shrugged.

"Scabior brought the proposition to Dumbledore first," he said. "Offered him a chance to get rid of Greyback. Wanted his place, but was too lazy to earn it," he added, sneering. "Typical Gaunt."

"Dumbledore said no," Draco guessed uneasily, and Tom rolled his eyes.

"Of course that fucker said no," he muttered. "And then Scabior dragged me into it. Said if Dumbledore wasn't game, he was going to bring me down - which was a price _Dumbledore_ was willing to pay," Tom said slowly, "but _I_ fucking wasn't."

"Bring you down?" Draco asked. "How?"

"Scabior knew he had a court appearance coming up with Bones. He knew Bones was the prosecutor on the Potter case, and he knew the Potter kid had just been hired by Slughorn - so he _used_ it," Tom said bitterly, "to convince me our interests were mutual."

"He threatened you," Draco realized, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you let that fly?"

Again, Tom shrugged.

"I have nothing to lose by Greyback's death," Tom said. "Scabior's another matter, and an even easier one. You took care of Greyback," he added silkily. "I see no reason why you can't take care of Scabior, too."

That, more than anything, sent Draco reeling.

"Me?" he asked, aghast. "You're - you can't be serious - "

"Well, what choice do you _have_ , Draco?" Tom lamented, his voice a mocking purr. "You've just lost your father," he said, gesturing to Lucius on the floor. "Can you stand to lose your friends? I imagine it must have taken quite a lot for Potter to trust you with his parents' deaths," he murmured coaxingly. "Do you think he'll die quite as brilliantly as his father?"

 _No,_ Draco thought, _no, this can't be happening -_

"Leave Potter out of it," he seethed. "He doesn't have anything to do with this - "

"Sure he doesn't," Tom cut in, laughing. "And even if _he_ doesn't, then there's always Theodore," he mused. "You and I both know perfectly well that he didn't take the shot that killed Greyback," Tom added, pairing the statement with a dismal scoff, "but do you think a jury would agree?"

"Tom," Draco snapped. "That's _Theo_ , you can't fucking _do_ that - "

"And then there's your pretty doctor," Tom said indulgently, with a flash of something terrible as he luxuriated in his final blow. "What do you think will happen to her, Draco, if you refuse?"

"I - " Draco swallowed, his mouth painfully dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do," Tom remarked, chuckling. "Did you even check to make sure she was safe, Draco, before you came here?"

"Tom, I - "

"You know how I hate outsiders," Tom remarked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Admittedly, the funny thing is that for a time, I was willing to let that particular opposition slide for her. She made you a better Death Eater, you know," Tom commented slyly, smirking at Draco. "Ironic, isn't it? That before her, you wouldn't have _dared_ to pull the trigger on Greyback, would you? But she made things different," he said softly. "She made _you_ different, and you - " he broke off, his smile turning cold. "You could have been so much _more_."

Draco's head spun. "Stop," he croaked, and Tom laughed.

"She's pretty, isn't she? And brilliant, too," Tom murmured. "I'm surprised you managed it, and truly, I'm flattered by the efforts you took to hide it - but that was never going to happen. And as much as I like her, I like me more," Tom declared flatly. "So you, Draco, are going to have to wise up as to what comes next if you'd prefer to keep her safe."

"You can't touch her," Draco warned. "I won't let you - "

"Ah, look who remembers her now," Tom mused, tsking quietly. "But I wonder, Draco - do you even know where she is?" He took a step closer, watching Draco's throat swell, watching him force down fear and loathing and doubt. "She went to the hospital," Tom informed him, half-whispering. " _Alone_. Well, not alone," he amended cheerily, with an abrupt shift in mood. "Rowle's there to keep an eye on her, of course - "

"Don't touch her," Draco rasped, misery working its way to his voice. "Don't you fucking _touch_ her, Tom - "

"And there we go," Tom muttered, his blue eyes traveling triumphantly over Draco's face. "This is power, isn't it?" he beckoned, his tone shaky with reverence at the thought. "You're not whole, Draco, on your own. You have all these pieces of yourself buried in others, and you stand to lose everything, and this is the truth - "

He stepped closer, nudging the Glock's barrel directly into Draco's chest. "I will win every time," Tom told him softly, the cold metal of the gun still somehow less menacing than the look in his eye, "because I fucking _own you_."

Draco's hands shook, bile flooding his mouth.

 _Wake up, Draco,_ he heard Theo say. _He likes you because you follow orders. It's not trust, and it's definitely not fucking affection, or goddamn loyalty -_

"What will it take," Draco forced out, wishing instantly to open his veins, to bleed out all over the floor. "What will it take for you to leave her alone?"

Tom smiled, and it was devastating.

"You shot Lucius," Tom informed him, tilting his head in feigned disappointment and conjuring an uncannily believable veil of sorrow. "I'll protect you, of course - provided you make good choices." Draco grimaced, and Tom smirked, continuing. "You'll get rid of Scabior," he added. "That's a given. You'll get rid of him and clean up the mess, and then, once that's settled," he went on carefully, " _maybe_ I'll let Theodore carry on with Griphook's little bookkeeper, and _maybe_ I'll let that doctor of yours live long enough to look back fondly on her impulsive little excursion with you."

He paused, arching a brow expectantly, and Draco stared at him, wondering how such a man - a _monster_ , and with such a charming human mask - could ever possibly exist.

"Oh, come on, Draco," Tom scoffed, watching his face change. "You were never going to have her. Surely you knew that," Tom reminded him coldly, unflinching. "You must have known from the start it could only end badly."

 _I want you to cure me, to absolve me -_

 _I want you to be my penance -_

"It was always going to burn, Draco," Tom said, and gradually lowered the gun, letting his arm fall to his side. "Better to let it burn fast, don't you think?"

 _I want you to save me -_

 _Benediction, absolution -_

"Just don't touch her," Draco finally rasped, feeling certain his knees would crumble beneath him.

 _Is it this life that destroys us, or were we fucked from the start?_

Tom reached out to grip his shoulder; a motion of something like reassurance, though it was as false as the man himself. Draco closed his eyes and waited, expectant, anticipating the merciless grasp around his arm - crueler even than fate, more damning than the cards he'd been dealt or the stars he'd been given - but never felt it, and then, from the doorway, he heard a shot ring out; and it was dizzying, like flying and falling;

Like vertigo;

Like time stopped;

And then -

* * *

" _What happened?"_

 _A fair question, all things considered._

" _Trust me," he told her, shaking his head. "You don't want to know."_

 _She grimaced; another fair response._

" _Are you okay?" she asked, wincing in concert with him as she started to clean the wound on his shoulder, chewing her lip in sympathy._

 _It was sort of sweet that she would care, he thought. Not that it helped much._

" _I've been better," he admitted darkly. "But then again, I've been worse."_

 _She smiled, or wanted to, or tried to; he wondered what she looked like when she smiled, and considered the rewards._

 _She worked steadily, and with focus, never flinching. Her hands were steady, cool, soothing, and though he'd never seen an artist at work, he imagined this was similar, watching her craft his imperfection beneath her fingers, taking the mangled shred of what he was and putting him back together, with faultless deliberation._

" _You're good at this," he commented, watching her work._

 _She laughed. "How would you know?"_

" _The look on your face. You're focused," he explained, "and I like to think I can tell when someone's in their element."_

 _She looked pleased, and he felt gratified._

" _Strangely, that means a lot," she remarked sincerely. "Thank you."_

" _It should mean a lot," he said, and she looked up, meeting his gaze. "I'm notoriously sparing with flattery."_

" _Oddly, I would have guessed that," she agreed, fighting a smile, and then the space between her brows twitched, the corners of her mouth curving down as he inhaled sharply, the throbbing mounting at his shoulder._

 _She reached under the seat, producing a bottle of scotch._

" _Here," she said brusquely, opening it and handing it to him. "Drink this. Distract yourself."_

" _I'm fine," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I think I can handle a little" - he broke off, hissing as she dug into the wound - "pain."_

 _Again, she fought a smile, but the smile won out._

" _That was convincing," she murmured, teasing, and he succumbed to a helpless laugh._

" _Fine," he conceded, tipping the bottle back against his lips. "Surprised to see a doctor riding around with this in her car," he added tangentially, eyeing the Johnnie Walker Blue Label and wincing again, wishing his pain tolerance were higher._

" _It was a gift," she explained, focused again on his shoulder. "When I started here six months ago."_

" _Ah, nice and aged," he joked. "Perfect."_

" _How is it?" she asked, and he managed to limit himself to a small noise of discontentment, biting his tongue on what would have been a far louder cry of pain. "Sorry, almost got it."_

 _He took another swig, letting it steep on his tongue._

" _You know," he remarked, swallowing, "everything tastes a bit coppery at the moment." He closed his eyes, feeling the whisky burn down his throat. "Think that's psychological?"_

 _She bit her lip, not looking at him._

" _I was never great at psychology," she attempted carefully, and he laughed._

" _I think I'll be tasting blood for a while," he lamented, and then tossed the bottle back, taking another large gulp._

 _It was quiet for a while; he watched her. Funny that he'd thought of her first as an artist, when really, she was a bit like art. She was one of those paintings, like a watercolor, like John Singer Sargent, with the intensity of a dream; fluid and vivid and more breathtaking the longer he looked, the flush in her cheeks and the sheen of her skin and the glint of her hair all gilded and golden. His gaze caught on the tension in the bow of her lips, watching her wrestle with something, and part of him wanted to press his fingers to it, to smooth it from her worried mind._

" _Tell me one thing," she said eventually, "so that I feel less like a deranged criminal."_

" _You're not a deranged criminal," he quipped easily. "Does that help?"_

" _Surprisingly, no," she said, though he noted with pleasure that she was smiling. "Tell me something about you," she clarified. "I think it'll make me feel better."_

" _Nothing about me is going to make you feel better," he promised her, but at her rapid admonishing glance, he sighed. "Fine," he conceded, taking another swig from the bottle. "What do you want to know?"_

 _She glanced down, her gaze shifting to the tattoo on his bare chest; her breath seemed to catch for a moment, and his did too, though he tried not to show it._

" _Your name," she concluded eventually, and he passed his tongue over his lips, wondering whether that was better or worse than what he'd imagined._

" _That's it?" he asked, arching a brow. "My name?"_

" _Would you answer any other question?" she prompted, and he flashed her a knowing smirk._

 _She was clever, he thought, and he struggled not to admire her._

" _Draco," he supplied, and her gaze shifted, following the line of the dragon on his forearm as if she were putting the pieces of him together, puzzling him out in her mind._

" _So," he said, feeling uncomfortably exposed, "why surgery?" He waited, watching her. "Just smarter than all the other doctors?" he guessed, and she made a face._

" _Ha," she said, shaking her head._

" _I'm not wrong, though, am I," he determined, and she glanced up at him. "You're not denying it," he noted sagely, and she sighed._

" _I'm not going to tell you I'm not smart," she said evasively, "but that's not why I chose surgery."_

" _Why, then?" he asked, and she paused, frowning as she considered the question._

" _I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do some good in the world," she explained slowly, "but I chose surgery because I like the thrill. People don't expect that from me," she added, and he nodded. "They find me bookish and odd, or assume that I'd be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I'm told. But the truth is - "_

" _You want adventure," he supplied. "Adrenaline junkie," he added, feeling himself smile. "I know what that's like."_

 _She looked up, locking eyes with him._

" _My adventures don't usually end with bullet wounds," she pointed out, almost as if she were trying to convince herself that were true._

" _Neither do mine," he agreed. "And yet, here we both are."_

 _She smiled, and it nearly choked him; and then she returned to her work, and his breath slowly refilled in his lungs._

" _Done," she pronounced definitively, eyeing her handiwork. "You'll need to take care of it, of course - use this on it," she added, rummaging through the things in her bag and handing him a small tube of ointment, "and make sure it doesn't get infected, and - "_

 _She was distracted, fidgeting, falling into something he figured was normal for her; a need to do things satisfactorily, perfectly, without room for error, and he was grateful she missed the smile that crept across his face._

" _You're free of me, Doc," he interrupted quietly, his fingers brushing hers as he accepted the ointment from her. "You've done more than enough already."_

 _She hesitated. "I just want to make sure that - "_

" _Thank you," he said quickly, cutting her off. He forced himself to let go of her hand and she let it float down to her side, rejoining the rest of her with embattled hesitation. "Really," he added. "Thank you for everything."_

 _She didn't want him to go, he could tell._

 _He didn't want to, either._

" _Draco," she began tentatively, but he knew better. He knew what longing looked like and he saw the telltale signs, felt them himself; but he fought them, steadfastly, because he was the one who knew better._

 _I will ruin you, he thought, and we will revel in the chaos, right before we burn -_

 _I will ruin you, he thought, and we should go, before it's too late -_

 _"Thank you," he forced out, and managed one foot, then the other.  
_

 _Walk away, he told himself, before we have to burn;_

 _Before we burn, he told himself, and before it's too late;_

 _It's too late, he told himself, but he'd never learned to listen;_

Too late;

and he reveled in the chaos.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _I promise, chapter 27 will be here before you know it. Dedicated to some wonderful all-time faves who read all the things but haven't been thanked yet in this fic: rebelsaurus29, susiequeen300, pierrej92, kyonomiko, and dreameuro._


	27. Ascension

**Chapter 27: Ascension**

 _ **Four Diagon Residents Under Investigation, Facing Murder Charges for Death of Diagon Community Leader Tom Riddle**_

 _Diagon is rocked to its core this evening as news continues to spread regarding the passing of Death Eater President and community activist Tom Riddle, who was shot and killed this morning; sources say Diagon police are currently without answers as to which of the four witnesses present were responsible for Riddle's death. Investigation continues as sources close to the four suspects are called in for questioning in what is easily the most puzzling case of violence the town of Diagon has seen for nearly three decades._

* * *

 _[Camera opens on a small interrogation room inside the Diagon Police Department. Prosecutor Arthur Weasley settles the camera and then takes a seat on camera right, further from the door, across from a single vacant chair on camera left. What proceeds are the interviews of each of the individual witnesses brought in for questioning regarding the events and relationships preceding the death of Tom Marvolo Riddle, intercut in summation.]_

 _ **Arthur: "Please state your name for the record."**_

Dean: "Dr Dean Thomas."

Horace: "Chief Horace Slughorn, DPD."

Gilderoy: "Gilderoy Lockhart, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award."

Fleur: "Fleur Delacour."

Padma: "Dr Padma Patil."

Darian: "Darian Mulciber."

Viktor: "Viktor Krum."

Cedric: "Cedric Diggory."

Daphne: "Daphne Greengrass."

Ron: "Officer Ronald Weasley, DPD."

Griphook: "Griphook." _[Arthur: "That's not- "]_ "Griphook. Like Cher, or Jesus." _[Arthur: "Again, I woul-"]_ "Write it down."

Thorfinn: "Thorfinn Rowle."

 _ **Arthur: "What is your relationship to the Death Eaters motorcycle club?"**_

Griphook: "Strictly business." _[Clears throat]_ "And that's all I'd like to say on the matter at this time."

Ron: "Well, speaking on behalf of the Diagon Police Department, I'd s- " _[Arthur: "Your personal relationship, please."]_ "Oh. Well. It's not great. Personally I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, which isn't even as far as I'd like to admit."

Daphne: "My father was one, but I've distanced myself from the club since his death. I'm still friends with some of them, but I don't consider myself to be part of that … lifestyle." _[Arthur: "What do you mean by 'lifestyle'?"]_ "It's complicated. I think being in the club can be unhealthy, and I wouldn't personally choose to be part of it. That being said, my father loved the club, and I think I can understand, objectively, why that would be."

Fleur: "The Death Eaters? I'm fucking one of them. No, wait - " _[She sighs.]_ "I'm in love with one of them. But that's it."

Horace: "The club is one of the pillars of the community, and has been for decades. I like to think the Diagon PD and the Death Eaters have always been allies where it comes to the town's best interests." _[Arthur: "And outside of that? Are you ever not allies?"]_ "Well, obviously the police department is a separate entity. The town always comes first, and there are definitely some bad apples in the batch where it comes to the Death Eaters, but in general I would characterize our relationship as positive." _[He grimaces]_ "Wary, but certainly positive."

 _ **Arthur: "How do you know Draco Malfoy?"**_

Daphne: "He's an old friend. Our fathers were both Death Eaters, and he and I have gone to school together forever. He used to date my sister."

Padma: "I don't, really. He interrupted my sister while she was on a date with someone once and I've yet to hear the end of it, which isn't ideal. But other than that, I really don't know him."

Dean: "We went to high school together, but outside of that, we haven't interacted much. No bad blood or anything - we just didn't run in the same circles."

Darian: "He and I are both Death Eaters. I consider him a brother. Granted, a younger brother, and one who rarely listens, but I love him like he's blood."

 _ **Arthur: "Would you characterize your relationship with Mr Malfoy as friendly?"**_

Ron: "Fuck no." _[blanches]_ "Sorry, Dad."

Fleur: "Relatively." _[She pauses]_ "Yes, I think. I may have implied in the past that Malfoy should suffer heinously for his relentless cockblocking, but in general I would say we're friendly."

Thorfinn: "He's sort of a big shot around the Manor, same as his father was. A little bit of an arrogance problem, but at his age? I'd be shocked if he didn't." _[Shrugs]_ "I've never had a problem with him."

Daphne: "We're very close. We've drifted apart in recent years, but I'd like to think we've always supported each other. And like I said, he dated my sister, who - " _[she pauses, swallowing.]_ "Well, that ended a long time ago, but like I said, he was like family to me."

Viktor: _[shrugging]_ "I've met worse Death Eaters."

Griphook: "He's a nice enough young man. Excellent mechanic."

Horace: "Well, Draco wasn't a particularly civic-minded teen; we had some run-ins when he was in high school. Since then, he's proven himself to be intelligent, and - " _[he stops.]_ "Intelligent isn't the right word. Cunning, perhaps. Certainly capable." _[Arthur: "Capable of what?"]_ "Of anything, really. It's - " _[grimaces]_ "Not entirely a compliment."

 _ **Arthur: "Did you see Draco Malfoy on the day of Tom Riddle's murder?"**_

Fleur: "Yes, I did. Early that morning. He was going to the hospital to visit a friend who died before he got there." _[Arthur: "And after that?"]_ "Did I see him after, you mean? No, I didn't. That was the last time I saw him that day until they took Riddle's body out of the house."

 _ **Arthur: "And how do you know Theodore Nott, Jr?"**_

Ron: "God, fuck him too." _[Sighs]_ "Again, sorry."

Dean: "Yeah, I know Theo. I like him. He's got a weird reputation as Malfoy's sidekick, but he's got his own thing going. A patricidal, sweary thing, granted, but it's his own thing."

Padma: "Who?"

Daphne: "Theo's my high school sweetheart. And probably my best friend, though we weren't in touch for a while. Several years."

Fleur: "Theo's my man." _[Arthur: "Care to elaborate?"]_ "No, not really. To be honest, I think that about covers it."

 _ **Arthur: "Did you see Theo Nott prior to Tom Riddle's death?"**_

Daphne: "No, I didn't, but I spoke to him on the phone. He was a little frazzled; Draco had asked him to keep an eye on Hermione, but she'd - " _[she hesitates, and then shakes her head.]_ "No, I didn't see Theo."

Cedric: "Yes, I saw him that morning. He was a little bit worked up." _[Arthur: "How so?"]_ "Well, he was having what I think is best described as an existential crisis. Things about Tom Riddle were starting to come to light, and - " _[he trails off, shrugging]_ "What can I say? Not everyone can handle that sort of thing." _[Arthur: "What sort of thing?"]_ "The sort of thing where your world comes to a screeching halt, I guess."

 _ **Arthur: "Would you characterize Mr Nott's behavior that morning as being erratic, or overly emotional?"**_

Darian: "He was - " _[He hesitates.]_ "Look, Theo can be a very intense person. He has a short fuse, and he cares deeply about his friends, one of which was probably in very grave danger that morning. But would I say erratic? No. I think that's unfair. And he was _emotional_ , certainly, but overly emotional? No. No, I wouldn't say that."

Viktor: "He's a twitchy little fuck. Held me at gunpoint once, actually, did I mention that? I didn't actually think he had the stones to pull the trigger, but you know. Was he twitchier that day than usual? Yeah." _[He pauses.]_ "Yeah, I mean, a little."

Fleur: "He was fine." _[She pauses, choosing her words carefully.]_ "Worried, but fine." _[She leans back, fidgeting slightly.]_ "Can we move on, please?"

 _ **Arthur: "How do you know Harry Potter?"**_

Ron: "He's my partner."

Padma: "He's my - " _[she pauses, grimacing.]_ "He's my boyfriend's partner. We hang out sometimes, but I wouldn't say we're close."

Daphne: "He's - " _[she trails off.]_ "We're cohabitating."

Dean: "He's a friend. Well, more of an acquaintance; I know him mostly through Ron. Crazy what came out about his parents, though." _[Shakes his head.]_ "That was totally tragic."

 _ **Arthur: "Did you know about his parents' murder case?"**_

Dean: "I mean … vaguely. I think everyone sort of knows about it, but it's not something people like to talk about in Diagon. Unpleasant, you know?"

Ron: "I knew about the double homicide, but I didn't connect it with Harry until we'd already been working with each other for a while. He doesn't really talk about his parents much." _[He pauses.]_ "Though, maybe I'm just not the person he chose to talk to about them."

Horace: "Yes, I did. But it wasn't a factor in hiring him." _[Arthur: "Not at all?"]_ "No. He's a superb cop. Great instincts. Very by the book, which is what I was looking for in a deputy." _[Arthur: "Any particular reason why?"]_ "No, not - no. No, I just - he has a solid track record. Any police chief would have hired him on the spot."

 _ **Arthur: "It's come to light that Officer Potter had been investigating his parents' murder without the resources of the Diagon Police Department. Do you believe that was the reason for his visit to the residence known as 'the Manor' that morning?"**_

Daphne: _[adamantly]_ "No. I have absolute faith that Harry went there that day without any prejudice with regard to his parents' deaths. He's not like that." _[She pauses, shaking her head with certainty.]_ "No. He's a good man, and a good cop, and I'm positive he went inside for a good reason."

Horace: "Well, he's human, isn't he? I'm sure it crossed his mind. But if you're asking if I think he pulled the trigger _because_ of his parents' murder - " _[Arthur: "That wasn't the question, no."]_ "Oh. Well, then no. No, I don't think it was the reason."

Darian: _[hesitantly]_ "Listen, I like Potter, and I don't know what he'd uncovered in his investigation as of that morning - but I will say that if _I_ were him, and I knew then what we all know now about his parents' deaths, I can't honestly say for sure that I wouldn't have pulled the trigger myself."

Ron: _[grimacing]_ "It's possible his suspicions about Tom with regard to his parents' case had something to do with his feeling of - I don't know. Urgency, I guess. But if you're asking me if he went after Tom Riddle _because_ he thought he killed his parents, then . . . no, I don't think so. I can't be sure, but I don't think so."

 _ **Arthur: "How do you know Hermione Granger?"**_

Dean: "I work with her. We're both surgical interns at St Mungo's hospital, and we're pretty close."

Padma: "This is under oath, right?" _[Arthur gives a confirming shrug.]_ "She's my best friend. I love her like a sister. No, more than a sister, because I can only barely tolerate my sister." _[She pauses.]_ "Also, we work together."

Gilderoy: "She's my doctor. I also consider her something of a mentee, though she seems loath to take my advice on color palettes. She's very much an autumn, don't you think?"

Thor: "I was instructed to watch her." _[Arthur: "Just watch her?"]_ "Yes, just watch her. I wasn't going to hurt her or anything. That wasn't why I was there." _[Arthur: "Why were you there, then?"]_ "Tom said it was important. When Tom says jump - " _[he shrugs]_ " - you jump." _[Arthur: "Did you ever question why you were watching her?"]_ "Hey, man. You ever questioned how sausage is made? It's disgusting. Fucking revolting. Sometimes you just want to sit down and eat your breakfast, you know what I mean? It's just better not to know."

Fleur: "I met her earlier that morning. She seemed like a sensible enough person." _[She pauses, drumming her fingers against her arm.]_ "Until she up and disappeared, that is."

 _ **Arthur: "How did Dr Granger's behavior seem to you that day? Was she doing anything unusual?"**_

Padma: "Well, she was being watched, and she did seem desperate to get somewhere. She didn't say where or why, but she did seem really agitated."

Gilderoy: "She seemed normal to me. The hiding was new, but the unwillingness to applaud my performance was, unfortunately, totally in character."

Cedric: "I don't know her well enough to say if the way she was acting was out of character, to be honest. She did seem a little bit reckless that morning, and definitely more reckless than I would have expected from someone in her position - but I can't really speak to whether it was unusual."

Dean: "Look, I know Hermione really well, and even though I've never seen her act like this before, I can honestly say that I wouldn't have done anything differently than she did if I were the one being stalked and followed. Does that mean I think she would have killed someone? No, absolutely not. She's brilliant, and she's very focused and logical. If you're asking if it's possible that she woke up that morning and decided to kill Tom Riddle, then my response to that is definitive and absolute: she did not."

 _ **Arthur: "What is your relationship to the deceased?"**_

Griphook: "We are business associates. He is a buyer and distributor." _[Arthur: "Of antiquities?"]_ "Of antiquities, yes."

Fleur: "I'm sort of a business conduit, which isn't much to go on in terms of knowing what a person is like, but in my line of work you hear things. I never worked directly with him, but I know enough about him to say I wasn't a fan."

Slughorn: "Typically the Diagon police chief keeps up appearances with the president of the Death Eaters. I was perhaps a little bit closer to Tom than I was to Dumbledore - or than my predecessor was to Dumbledore's - but I have always believed that our relationship was for the benefit of the town."

Padma: "I met Tom Riddle once when he was visiting one of my patients in the hospital. Gave me the creeps, you know? He's got something weird about him." _[Arthur: "Anything in particular that gave you that impression?"]_ "Well, let me put it this way - in undergrad I did some work with people who were in psychological rehabilitation programs while serving prison terms, and I remember we were showing inmates pictures of people's emotions and asking them what they saw. And there was this one guy, real quiet and unassuming, who saw a picture of someone exhibiting fear, and he looked up at me and said 'I don't know what this emotion is, but this is what it looks right before you stab someone,' and that was it." _[Arthur: "Wow."]_ "Yeah, I know, right? And the thing is - it was chilling, right? But that's how I felt when I met Tom Riddle, and all he said was hello."

Thor: "Tom was our club president. He paid us on time, and people respected us." _[He shrugs]_ "I never had any problems with him."

 _ **Arthur: "Let's talk about what yesterday was like for you. What were you doing?"**_

Padma: "I was at work. Hermione had called in sick, or so our attending had told us. Nothing was out of the ordinary until I was paged to the administrative offices." _[Arthur: "And that was out of the ordinary?"]_ "Sort of. I wasn't expecting it. And I definitely wasn't expecting Hermione to be the reason I was paged."

Dean: "She needed us to help her get out. She'd worked the longest shift the night before, and I guess the Death Eater had been watching her since then. I don't know why she came to the hospital or what she was doing in the administrative offices, but she looked a little troubled when I saw her." _[Arthur: "Troubled?"]_ "Yes. As if something was weighing on her mind." _[Arthur: "The fact that she was being followed, you mean?"]_ "Possibly, though I think there was something else to it. She always had a sort of strange fascination with the Death Eaters, but I assumed that was natural curiosity. I don't blame her. They are sort of strangely fascinating, though I had wondered if there was more to it."

Viktor: "I came to Fleur's apartment to pick her up. I used to do that in the old days when we were dating, so it wasn't out of the ordinary, no matter what her Death Eating fuckboy says. I spoke to Nott, had a very irritating conversation with him, and then I left. That's all I know, and then I didn't hear anything else until I was brought in here."

Gilderoy: "Yesterday will stand the test of time as one of my most egregiously unappreciated dramatic performances. Dr Granger and that beautifully irritated man of hers disappeared after hiding from the muttery blond one, and that's the last I saw of either of them."

Darian: "It was a normal day." _[He pauses uneasily]_ "Until Draco showed up asking questions, that is."

 _ **Arthur: "Talk about what happened right before Tom Riddle was killed. Where were you?"**_

Cedric: "Before arriving at the Manor I'd been having a bit of a scuffle with the Death Eater that was supposed to be watching Hermione. We settled it like gentlemen, obviously."

Thorfinn: "The bounty hunter punched me in the face and then stole my cell phone. Then the blonde girl with the legs showed up and told me she'd make me eat glass or something, but by then the doctor was long gone, so - I left." _[Arthur: "Where did you go?"]_ "Where else? The Manor."

Fleur: "I got to the hospital right as Cedric was having a very civilized discussion with that Death Eater, and I politely suggested he leave us alone. He wisely obliged, and we went our separate ways." _[Arthur: "Then you went to the Manor, correct?"]_ "Yes. I got in Cedric's car, and we went straight there."

Daphne: "That morning I was at home. Then Hermione showed up at my door, and she was looking for Draco. I figured he'd be at the Manor, so I agreed to take her there. She'd accidentally left her cell phone with her friend, and I figured going there would be the best way to reach him." _[Arthur: "Did it seem odd to you that she was so urgent to see him?"]_ "Odd? No. I mean, I'd only just met her." _[She shifts, glancing at the camera and then promptly looking away.]_ "I wouldn't say anything seemed odd. I was just trying to help."

Ron: "I was on duty with Harry. We had just been to the courthouse when we learned that Tom Riddle had vacated the Manor." _[Arthur: "Did that strike you as significant?"]_ "Me? No. Unusual, sure, but I don't concern myself much with what they do. Harry, though." _[He shakes his head.]_ "Harry was pretty certain something was about to go down, and it turns out he was right."

 _ **Arthur: "What happened when you got to the Manor?"**_

Daphne: "I pulled into the service lot. Their repair shop is on the same property, and that's where I've always parked when I've gone there. Hermione went inside right away, but I stayed by the car." _[Arthur: "Why?"]_ "I was about to call Harry when I saw his police cruiser pull up. I was heading towards him, but I don't think he saw me." _[Arthur: "Why not?"]_ "He went inside before I could say anything. He seemed pretty intent on getting in the house."

Ron: "Harry went in right away. I suggested we call for backup, but he didn't think that was a good idea." _[Arthur: "Why not?"]_ "He was worried Tom would do something drastic if there were too many cops outside. That's a fairly typical call for a volatile situation, or a hostage situation, but I thought it was a weird call." _[Arthur: "How so?"]_ "I didn't see the situation as volatile yet. I really didn't think things were going to be as serious as they ended up being." _[Arthur: "You mean you didn't feel that it would be a life or death situation?"]_ "No. I definitely didn't see this coming at all."

Fleur: "I knew as soon as we got there that something was wrong. The kind of work we do, you learn how to taste it in the air, you know? It's like - like when you bite down, you can almost chew it. Tension, I guess." _[She glances warily at Arthur, and he nods for her to go on.]_ "I can't explain it, but I can tell you the whole thing tasted bad from the second we got there."

Cedric: "We got there and pulled up from the side of the Manor, out on the street. We got out of the car, and I asked Fleur what she wanted to do, and before she could answer we heard the gun go off inside."

 _ **Arthur: "Where were you when you heard the shot fired?"**_

Darian: "I was still in the shop. Close enough to hear the gun go off, but definitely well out of the way. I was there when Thor got there, and I was telling him what had happened that morning when we both heard the shot from inside the Manor."

Thorfinn: "I was with Mulciber. He was a little bit hysterical." _[Arthur: "How so?"]_ "I think he knew more about what was happening than he was telling me. He seemed pretty insistent on not going inside." _[Arthur: "Did you ask questions?"]_ "No. It's that sausage principle again." _[Arthur: "You really live by that rule, don't you?"]_ "It's a good one. Helps me sleep at night."

 _ **Arthur: "What happened after you heard the gunshot?"**_

Daphne: "I wanted to go inside. Weasley wouldn't let me." _[Arthur: "Why not?"]_ "He insisted on calling for backup. I told him he'd have to arrest me to stop me from going in." _[Arthur: "And did he?"]_ "Yes. Fucker."

Fleur: "The police chief was there almost immediately. Too quickly, if you ask me, but hey." _[Arthur: "Too quickly?"]_ "Yeah. Gun went off, and boom. He was there, blocking off the exit to the Manor, while Cedric and I had to wait outside."

Horace: "I was nearby when I heard Officer Weasley's distress call. First thing I did was shut down the crime scene - nobody in or out while we secured the perimeter. Standard procedure in the event of excessive force." _[Arthur: "Meaning the gunshot?"]_ "Yes. When a gun goes off in the Manor, you shut that shit down. That's just common sense."

Ron: "Slughorn had me secure the perimeter while he went inside. I had to handcuff Greengrass to a fence to keep her out." _[Arthur: "What was her state of mind?"]_ "She looked like a bull seeing red. I didn't actually book her, obviously. I was just following orders to keep people out." _[Arthur: "And then?"]_ "And then I waited. I didn't do anything until they brought out the body - sorry. The bod _ies_. And then it was crowd control and gathering witnesses."

 _ **Arthur: "What did you see when you entered the Manor?"**_

Horace: "The boardroom door was open. Lucius Malfoy was lying dead on the floor; he'd been dead long enough to have been bleeding for a while. Tom was in a heap on the floor as well. It looked like he'd been shot and then fallen onto the table, hit his head and then fallen to the floor." _[Arthur: "You could tell that by looking?"]_ "There was blood on his head, and a bloody mark on the table. So yeah." _[Arthur: "Where were the others?"]_ "Potter was closest to the door. Nott was on the other side of the doorway. Malfoy was standing closest to Tom, and he was holding the girl. The doctor." _[Arthur: "Who was holding the gun?"]_ "They were all holding guns. Except Malfoy." _[Arthur: "Based on their positions in the room, who do you think took the shot?"]_ "Hard to say. Any one of them could have taken it; Malfoy and the doctor had obviously moved around in the few minutes after the shot was fired, but I wouldn't rule them out." _[Arthur: "But you said Draco Malfoy wasn't holding a gun, correct?"]_ "No, he wasn't, but there was one on the floor, and we later discovered it was registered to him - so I definitely wouldn't rule him out."

 _ **Arthur: "From your knowledge of the suspects, who in the room was capable of making the shot?"**_

Ron: "Much as I hate to say it, Harry, for sure. I've seen him in the field and in training, and he's a fucking expert shot. Definitely Nott and Malfoy, too; they've certainly been around guns enough. Hermione, though? I doubt it." _[He shakes his head]_ "I'm pretty sure she doesn't own a gun."

Horace: _[firmly]_ "Not Harry. He's capable, of course, he's one of the department's best marksmen - but he doesn't have the kind of constitution to choose a lethal shot over a disarming one. _That_ spells Death Eater all over it, and I have to assume the doctor was just dragged in somehow."

Fleur: "I don't believe Theo or Draco took the shot." _[Arthur: "Why not?"]_ "I just don't. I don't think Theo was in there long enough to have a reason to, and I think if Draco had done it, he'd have done it differently." _[She shrugs]_ "Personally, my money's on the cop."

Daphne: "Honestly?" _[uneasily]_ "I think everyone in that room was capable of pulling the trigger."

 _ **Arthur: "Do you believe anyone you saw that morning was in the state of mind to have committed a premeditated killing?"**_

Cedric: "Premeditated? No. No, I don't think so. I don't think anybody knew what they would be seeing that morning."

Padma: "Hermione was not herself, definitely. But she also seemed more - _clear_ , if that makes sense? Like she had this sudden, infallible clarity? She knew exactly what she had to do, where she had to go. I don't think it was premeditated because she definitely didn't have a plan, exactly, but what was so strange about it was how _sure_ she was. Normally she kind of … wavers, you know what I mean?" _[Arthur: "But she didn't waver that morning?"]_ "No, not that morning. There was definitely no wavering that morning."

Dean: "Hermione was acting strange, sure, but who wouldn't be after working a long shift and getting no sleep? And being followed? Hell, by those standards, she seemed dazzlingly normal. Besides, we're doctors. 'Do no harm,' you know? It's a thing for us. We save lives every day. There's no way this was Hermione. I can't speak to the others, but if anything was premeditated, it definitely wasn't by her."

Ron: _[carefully]_ "Harry was really intent on going inside. I will admit that it struck me as odd, but no." _[He shakes his head]_ "I don't think anything about it was premeditated."

Darian: "Draco was … on a mission, yeah, but he'd been looking for his father, not Tom. I don't think he had any plans to speak to Tom." _[Arthur: "What about Theo?"]_ "I really don't think Theo was there for anyone but Draco." _[Arthur: "I meant Theo's state of mind. Did he say anything when you spoke to him that would lead you to believe he meant to kill Tom Riddle?"]_ "I, um - " _[Darian grimaces, fidgeting.]_ "No. No, he didn't say anything."

Daphne: "Premeditated? No." _[She stops]_ "Unfortunately, I think everyone in that room had a pretty compelling reason to want Tom Riddle dead, so I'm just as convinced everybody did it as I am that _nobody_ did it - if that makes any sense at all." _[Arthur: "Can you explain what you mean by that?"]_ "Well, if you told me any of them had done it in a moment of passion, or fear, I would buy that, right? But I'd just as easily believe you if you told me they were all innocent, and a ghost did it." _[She grimaces]_ "I'd just as easily believe that."

 _ **Arthur: "Thank you for your time. Before we let you go, could you please state your occupation for the record?"**_

Padma: "Surgical Intern at St Mungo's hospital. I specialize in oncology."

Ron: "Diagon police officer."

Dean: "I'm a doctor at St Mungo's."

Cedric: "I'm a licensed bounty hunter."

Gilderoy: "I am a deeply celebrated author, and recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class."

Viktor: "Warehouse manager."

Horace: "I'm Diagon PD's Chief of Police."

Daphne: "Licensed cosmetologist."

Griphook: "As I've said, I'm an antiquities dealer. Though - " _[He sighs wearily]_ "You may want to get in touch with my handler at the FBI."

Fleur: "I'm a certified forensic accountant for the Federal Bureau of Investigation." _[She pauses.]_ "By the way, can you call my supervisor?" _[shakes her head]_ "I don't think she's going to be happy about this."

* * *

 _[The interrogation room door opens and Draco Malfoy steps inside, flanked by Officer Ron Weasley. Weasley gestures to the chair on camera left, and Malfoy unceremoniously takes a seat, facing Arthur. Arthur flips a page in his legal pad and picks up his pen, nodding to Malfoy.]_

Arthur: "Please state your name for the record."

Draco: "Draco Malfoy."

Arthur: "And your occupation?"

Draco: "Mechanic."

Arthur: "And do you know why you're here?"

Draco: "Yes." _[expressionlessly]_ "I killed Tom Riddle."

Arthur: _[blinking, surprised.]_ "You're confessing?"

Draco: _[without hesitation]_ "Yes. I killed him. He shot and killed my father with my gun and then he threatened me with it, so when he got close enough to me, I wrestled the gun away from him and shot him in the temple. He hit his head on the table and fell to the ground, and that's when Hermione, Harry, and Theo got there." _[He pauses, and then his forehead creases with concern.]_ "They had nothing to do with it."

 _[There is a pause as Arthur scrutinizes Draco's face closely; the momentary blip of apprehension disappears quickly, and Draco meets Arthur's gaze almost no perceptible emotion. Draco looks tired, and somewhat resigned.]_

Arthur: _[slowly]_ "Okay. And why did you kill him?"

Draco: _[flatly]_ "He'd been lying to us. I felt betrayed. And once he killed my father, I knew he'd kill me too, so I took the shot while I had one."

 _[Arthur stops writing, setting his pen down beside the legal pad and leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest.]_

Arthur: "And why confess this now?"

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "My actions have consequences. I'm prepared for those consequences."

Arthur: _[frowning]_ "You realize that we'll have to look into whether your version of the story fits with the facts, correct?"

Draco: "Of course. But look at me." _[He laughs grimly]_ "Who wouldn't believe someone like me killed that man?"

 _[There is a weighted silence as they stare at each other, unspeaking.]_

* * *

" _My actions have consequences," Draco told her, coiling his fingers in her hair. "Everything I've done has led to this moment, and this is a consequence I'm willing to face."_

" _Don't," she begged. "You don't have to - "_

" _I do," he corrected. "I'm ready to live with myself. I'm ready to stop running. Aren't you?" he asked, pleading, tasting a moment of fear and forcing it down in favor of clinging desperately to her. "Aren't you?"_

* * *

 _[Theodore Nott sits in the chair on camera left, facing Arthur. Arthur, who has his hand curled around his mouth in thought, clears his throat and leans forward.]_

Arthur: "Please state your name for the record."

Theo: "Theo Nott."

Arthur: "And your occupation?"

Theo: "Sometimes I fix bikes. Sometimes I sell guns."

 _[Arthur looks up for a moment, wary, and then glances back down at his legal pad.]_

Arthur: "Do you know why you've been brought in today?"

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "Probably has something to do with me killing Tom Riddle."

 _[Arthur pauses, flipping the pen between his fingers, and then continues.]_

Arthur: "Is that a confession?"

Theo: _[impatiently]_ "Yes, of course it's a fucking confession. I killed him, and he deserved it. He was responsible for the deaths of my father and my friend. He'd already killed Lucius Malfoy, and he had his gun pointed at Draco when I walked into the Manor. I knew if he lived he'd only find a way to get out of what he'd done and make the rest of us suffer for having seen it, so I wasn't about to take any chances."

Arthur: _[leaning back]_ "So what happened?"

Theo: "I came into the boardroom. I saw Lucius lying on the floor, and then I saw Tom holding Draco at gunpoint." _[He stops, and then presses on.]_ "I shot him from the doorway."

Arthur: "And where was everyone else when this happened?"

Theo: "Draco was behind Tom. Potter and the doctor were behind me." _[He pauses.]_ "Potter tried to stop me, but I didn't listen."

Arthur: "Why not?"

Theo: "I was done with it. I was done." _[He swallows.]_ "And now it really is over, isn't it? And I can breathe." _[He takes a breath, as if to prove it.]_ "I can finally fucking breathe."

* * *

" _You're not going down for this. You shouldn't go down for this."_

" _Better me than - "_

" _No. That's not how this works, Draco. That's not how this works."_

" _Theo - "_

" _Listen, I know what I'm capable of. I know I would have done it - "_

" _But you didn't."_

" _But it doesn't matter. I would have, and that's what matters."_

" _Don't - "_

* * *

 _[Hermione Granger tentatively takes a seat in the interrogation room, staring straight forward. Arthur glances up at her, studying her for a moment, and then picks up his pen.]_

Arthur: "Please state your name for the record."

Hermione: "Hermione Granger."

Arthur: "And your occupation?"

Hermione: "I'm - " _[she swallows.]_ "I'm a doctor."

Arthur: "Do you know why you're here, Dr Granger?"

Hermione: "I do."

Arthur: "Okay." _[Arthur nods reassuringly.]_ "Why don't you tell me in your own words what happened."

Hermione: _[takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly]_ "I came to the Manor after I found out that Tom Riddle had covered up the death of Albus Dumbledore." _[She frowns]_ "No, sorry, I guess I should back up - "

Arthur: "Go ahead and take a breath. Take your time."

Hermione: _[nods]_ "I came to Harry's apartment looking for him. I'd left my cell phone in my friend Padma's lab coat, and I knew he was the last person to have seen Draco, so I went to go find him."

Arthur: "What exactly is your relationship to Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione: "I - " _[she hesitates]_ "We're - "

 _[She trails off, and Arthur leans towards her.]_

Arthur: "Take your ti- "

Hermione: _[interrupting, as if she's in a hurry to get the words out]_ "Daphne took me to the Manor. She's Harry's girlfriend." _[Her speech is hurried, even frantic.]_ "I didn't know he had a girlfriend, but he does, and it's her, and she took me there. I went inside right away. I had a gun - "

Arthur: _[cutting in gently]_ "Where did you get the gun?"

Hermione: "Draco had given it to me a long time ago." _[She pauses]_ "He was worried about my safety."

Arthur: "Why?"

Hermione: "I don't know. I still don't, really. But he was right - I was being watched, and followed, so he was right. He was right."

Arthur: _[reassuringly]_ "Okay. So you got to the Manor with Miss Greengrass."

Hermione: "Yes. I got to the Manor and I went inside. I could hear Draco's voice, and Tom's. I opened the door to the room where I could hear them talking, and I saw Draco's father on the floor, and - " _[She breaks off.]_ "Tom had a gun and Draco didn't. Tom turned around and saw me and I - "

 _[She stops. Arthur waits.]_

Arthur: "What did you do, Hermione?"

Hermione: _[quietly]_ "I shot him. I took one shot, and I - I shot him."

Arthur: "Why?"

Hermione: "He would have killed Draco. He would have killed me. He would have kept killing and killing and nobody would have ever stopped him, and I had to stop it. I had to stop him. I had to stop him. I had to _-_ "

 _[Arthur reaches out, placing a hand on her forearm and stilling her.]_

Arthur: "He's gone. It's over."

 _[Hermione says nothing; she seems rooted in place, staring at the table.]_

Arthur: "He's gone."

Hermione: _[whispering]_ "It's over."

* * *

" _The round is in the chamber," Daphne said, loading the gun and handing it back to her, pointing. "That's the safety. It's off now, but - "_

 _Hermione nodded, staring at it._

" _If you need to, it's ready," Daphne told her. "It'll be loud, and you'll need to hold your hand really still, because there'll be a kick after you pull the trigger."_

 _Hermione took one breath, and then another._

" _How," she began, and then cleared her throat, trying to force the words out. "How do you know I won't miss?"_

 _Daphne took a breath, studying Hermione for a moment._

" _Let me see your hand," Daphne beckoned, holding her hand out expectantly._

 _Hermione slid the pistol into her left hand and held out her right, letting Daphne take it in her palm. Daphne eyed it, her gaze roving swiftly over the knuckles and then sweeping back up to Hermione's face, and then gave her a bracing nod._

" _Steady," Daphne told her, and as she said it, Hermione knew she was right. "I promise," Daphne added firmly. "If it comes down to it, I promise you won't miss."_

* * *

 _[Arthur is waiting with his arms crossed when Harry comes into the room, unescorted. He sits down and sets a manila file on the table in front of him, looking expectantly at Arthur.]_

Arthur: "Please state your name for the rec- "

Harry: _[without hesitation]_ "Harry Potter, Diagon Deputy Chief of Police. I'm here to state on record that Hermione Granger shot Tom Riddle in self defense, and that I was a witness to the event. I can say with certainty and with requisite authority that her life was in immediate and very real danger, and she took the first plausible shot she had."

Arthur: _[frowning]_ "Har- Officer Potter, that shot was - "

Harry: _[interrupting]_ "The shot was ultimately lethal, yes, but she's an inexperienced marksman who was acting out of concern for her life, and it was well within the realm of self defense - therefore you retain the option not to prosecute, and I think you should take it." _[He pauses, leaning forward in a somewhat emotional appeal as he lowers his voice.]_ "There are no winners here, Arthur. There are no family members to placate, no justice to be served. Your resources would be wasted on this case, and frankly, your department has bigger fish to fry."

Arthur: _[arches a brow]_ "Excuse me?"

 _[Harry slides the manila folder towards Arthur.]_

Harry: "Take a look."

 _[Arthur opens the folder, glancing through the file; from camera view there are a series of photographs and some scribbled notes. Arthur pores over the file for several minutes, and then looks up.]_

Arthur: "You're sure about this?"

Harry: _[nodding]_ "I'm sure. This is the case you should prosecute, Arthur. Let Tom Riddle's death be the end of it."

 _[Arthur hesitates, drumming his fingers against the table as he continues to stare at the file in front of him, which is sitting beside his legal pad with notes from the preceding interrogations.]_

Arthur: _[slowly]_ "You do realize this town would be happy to convict a gang member, don't you? Relieved, even. They'll be expecting it." _[He shakes his head]_ "It won't be easy to drop this case."

Harry: "Yes, I realize that. But the men who were in that room are both innocent and unfairly stigmatized, and as far as I'm concerned, Hermione's innocent, too. By taking that shot she probably saved at least two lives - her own and Draco's - if not mine and Nott's as well." _[He stops, leaning forward.]_ "Please." _[He stares imploringly at Arthur.]_ "Do the right thing, Arthur. Let everything Tom Riddle represented die with him. Don't prosecute that case." _[He points to the manila file.]_ "Prosecute _this_ one."

 _[Arthur hesitates.]_

Arthur: "Are you sure you can make this easy? It'll have to be a slam dunk, Harry, or the press'll have a field day - "

Harry: _[firmly]_ "I've got it. I promise."

 _[Arthur waits, and then he grimaces. He nods once, and then reaches over, turning the camera off.]_

* * *

"I was wondering when I might be seeing you," Scabior mused, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Harry as he entered the office that had once been Greyback's. "What can I do for you, Officer Potter?"

"You can answer a few questions," Harry replied, taking a seat opposite him at the desk. "If you have some time."

Scabior lifted one brow. "If this is about Riddle's death - "

"It isn't," Harry assured him. "Well, not exactly. It's more of a personal matter, actually."

"Oh?" Scabior asked, silkily curious. "Do tell," he beckoned, and Harry leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.

"Tom Riddle killed your father," Harry said, "and you leveraged that information to get Greyback out of the way, didn't you?"

Scabior didn't answer, and Harry shrugged.

"I'm not interested in that," he assured him. "What I do find interesting, though, _Marvolo_ ," he began pointedly, watching Scabior's mouth contort in displeasure, "is how you seemed to not have considered that Tom might have just killed you before you got what you wanted. So how'd you know you could trust him? And more importantly - " Harry paused, leaning forward to regard Scabior through curiously narrowed eyes. "Why would you even try?"

There was a pause, and then Scabior let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"My goodness," he drawled. "You're certainly direct."

"Shockingly, I didn't come to buy drugs," Harry remarked drily, and Scabior chuckled.

"Well, riddle me this, then, Potter - why would I tell you _anything_ , hm?" he mused, tapping his mouth. "You're a cop, and one who knows more than you should - and you're even in fucking _uniform_ , for fuck's sake. You caused a ruckus just by walking through my warehouse door, and now you think I'm going to have a chat with you? Think again," he scoffed, and Harry smiled.

"What I think," Harry informed him, "is that you're smart enough to know I can't use anything you tell me against you." Scabior passed him something of a confirming smirk, and Harry continued. "After all, it would most likely incriminate the Death Eaters, and - "

"Ah yes, and you're quite cozy with Malfoy Junior, aren't you?" Scabior murmured, lifting a brow. "That was quite a display at Rosmerta's. After all, his boss killed your parents," he added slyly, and Harry, who still had not adjusted to that particular piece of information, fought not to flinch. "I have to admit, I was _ever so_ surprised to see you taking his side."

"I didn't know Tom had killed my parents," Harry reminded him. "But _you_ always did, didn't you?"

Scabior smiled icily, curling a hand around his chin.

"Of course I fucking _considered_ that Tom might kill me," he began slowly, answering Harry's initial question. "But I was in the rather enviable position of possessing both carrot and stick, wasn't I? The club was broke and he needed money," he prompted, raising one hand, "so, carrot. He _also_ needed me to not divulge the reality of our relationship, which I promised him I could and _would_ release upon my death," he added, raising the other hand, "so, stick."

"Money?" Harry echoed, and Scabior shrugged, leaning back in his chair and settling his hands on top of his head.

"I'm the one who brought him to Griphook," Scabior said flatly. "Initially I tried to make the deal with Dumbledore - that I'd find them income if they took care of Greyback for me," he clarified, and Harry nodded. "Tom was my second choice, frankly. I'd hoped for a working relationship with the less homicidal of the two, but unfortunately, that was not an option."

"You brought Dumbledore to Griphook?"

"Yes," Scabior said, "but it didn't go well. Dumbledore was a bit of a straight arrow, unfortunately. But it didn't take an idiot to work out that Tom was gunning for his spot, so - " he shrugged. "When Dumbledore turned up dead, I altered my proposition."

"Dumbledore," Harry said, frowning, "died because of you?"

"Oh, don't twist it like that," Scabior sniffed, glowering. "He brought that on himself when he threatened Tom. Not like I did," he clarified, with a self-satisfied smirk. " _That_ was just good business. Dumbledore, as far as I'd gathered from our conversation, was going to out Tom to the rest of the club. Expose him to prevent any sort of underhanded collusion. You know," Scabior added, laughing, "like the kind that eventually took place. After all, Dumbledore had always quietly known about your parents, and he never approved of Tom not taking me under his wing - "

"So you knew?" Harry interrupted. "You knew all along it was Tom?"

Scabior stared at him for a moment, considering something.

"You know, you fascinate me," he commented flatly, shaking his head. "Because we were both fucked, weren't we? We were both made orphans by Tom Riddle, but _you_ got to just move on. To become some sort of white knight," he added mockingly, "and without ever once questioning what had happened. But I - I was _obsessed_ ," Scabior spat. "I knew my dad was a brute but still, he didn't deserve to die like that, labeled a murderer and - "

He broke off, swallowing.

"It didn't take long to figure out the Potters lived in Tom's building," Scabior said. "Took even less time to realize my dad must have gone there for money - which _Tom had,_ " he added, his fingers curling into fists, "but evidently couldn't spare. Couple that with Dumbledore's suspicions, and - " he shrugged. "Piecing it together was child's play."

"Why now, though?" Harry pressed. "Why not come for him a long time ago?"

To his surprise, Scabior looked genuinely astonished.

"Do you really not know?" Scabior asked, leaning forward. "Because of _you_ , Potter. Because you came back to Diagon."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Well," Scabior said, half-laughing, "a bit more than that, I suppose. It was almost beautifully fortuitous, really. Slughorn, who had held onto the case for years, was soon to be retiring," he said pointedly, "and with you being brought on as his eventual successor, I knew it would ultimately fall into your hands. Then with Smith's trial, Judge Bones was almost certainly going to connect me with Tom - "

"So you pitched that 'fortuitous' string of events to Tom," Harry guessed, "and told him you could make that go away?"

"Among other things," Scabior agreed, shrugging. "I convinced him it was in his best interest to have me in charge in Knockturn instead of Greyback. Business, for one thing," he said, waving a hand. "And a similar need for secrecy. Both being Marvolos, that is," he clarified grimly. "If there was one thing Tom and I could agree on, it was how much that fucking name was a curse."

Harry leaned forward, curious. "How exactly did you manage to hide your identity for so long?"

Scabior scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"There are more powerful men than just Tom Riddle," he said. "Greyback was one of them. I got into the Knockturn scene when I got out of juvie, but - " he shrugged. "I didn't care for being under such an incompetent thumb."

"Incompetent?"

"Well, not always," Scabior conceded, "but that fucker was getting lazy. Sloppy. Meant more work for me," he explained, "and I didn't want it anymore. I mean, look at how fucking easy it was for the Death Eaters to kill him," he muttered, waving a hand around the office. "I got his guns out of here without him noticing - _trapped_ him, and he never once saw it coming."

"But you didn't hire the Death Eaters," Harry ventured. "This wasn't an assassination, was it?"

"No, no," Scabior laughed. "No, Tom and I agreed that wouldn't fly. Instead I orchestrated the feud between Greyback and the Death Eaters. Gave them a reason to make Greyback's death an inevitability." He paused. "Or Tom's," he admitted, with a darkly gruesome laugh. "I wouldn't have mourned him if that had been the case. I don't mourn him now," he added, locking eyes with Harry. "I only wish I'd been the one to pull the trigger."

"Did you have plans to?" Harry asked.

"Eh, eventually," Scabior admitted, shrugging. "I mean, you could see the screws starting to come loose on his end. Look at Malfoy and Nott," he pointed out, and Harry nodded. "They were going to be problems, and I had my doubts that Tom was going to be able to maintain the reins for long."

Harry grimaced, acknowledging the point. "So when you say you orchestrated the feud, you mean - "

"I got Tom the stolen guns that pissed Greyback off in the first place," Scabior confirmed, nodding. "And I was there when he carved up that Death Eater's chest."

"It was your idea to show up at Rosmerta's?" Harry prompted, and Scabior shrugged.

"Things were moving slowly," he said. " _Too_ slowly. I was starting to doubt Tom was going to move things along on his own, so I gave him a reason to reconsider."

"What about the ignition bomb that killed Nott's father?" Harry asked, and at that, Scabior's mouth twitched.

"I'm not consulted on everything Greyback does. _Did_ ," he corrected himself, and grimaced. "Tom obviously took it poorly." He shrugged. "Figured killing Zac was tit for tat." He paused, eyeing Harry again. "I thought you said this was a personal matter," Scabior remarked slowly. "Feels a bit more like an interrogation."

"It isn't," Harry assured him. "I just had to know your side of the story. After all, like you said," he added carefully, "we were both fucked by Tom Riddle, weren't we?"

Scabior's smile darkened.

"We could have something, you know, you and I," he suggested, gesturing between them. "We're the same, after all. And besides, I know that Diagon police chief's about as dirty as it gets, and I can offer you a lot more than the Death Eaters can - _especially_ since Tom's out of the picture - "

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me," Harry assured him. "I said I had to _know_ your story, not that I wanted to be part of it. I'm curious, though," he murmured, glancing facetiously around the office. "You didn't like Greyback, but the others did, didn't they? He had a loyal crew," Harry mused. "Helped a lot of people out, you included."

Scabior bristled, sensing the threat.

"You know that if you rat me out, I'll only return the favor," he warned. "You turn me over to my crew and I'll take Malfoy and Nott down with me - "

"No, no, no reason to get worked up," Harry assured him, shaking his head. "I think we're almost done here. There's just one thing I wanted to ask you about before I went." He leaned back, tossing a manila file folder onto the desk and then propping his feet up, letting out a vacant sigh. "Tell me about Astoria Greengrass, would you?"

Scabior paused, glancing down at the file folder.

"Who?" Scabior asked, though Harry could tell the question was for show.

"Astoria Greengrass. You might recall that you shot her twice," he added smoothly. "Once in the head, to kill her, and once in the shoulder, as a message to Draco Malfoy. And my question is this, Marvolo," Harry ventured innocently. "Why'd you do it?"

Scabior looked up, staring at him.

"Hm?" Harry prompted, tilting his head. "Why her, Marvolo? She was an innocent girl, after all. She'd never harmed you, and she wasn't important to Tom. Unlike everyone else, she was totally collateral damage. So," he said again, waiting expectantly. "Why Astoria?"

Scabior's mouth stiffened.

"I wanted a war," he said plainly, unflinching when he finally spoke. "Malfoy wasn't angry enough about Greyback taking the shot to his shoulder. He needed a push."

"And why Astoria?"

"I followed him," Scabior said. "Tom had mentioned he was irritated that Malfoy was distracted, and with guys like that, it's only ever one thing. So I followed him out of the Manor, saw him kiss that girl. Figured I'd just poke the bear," he said, smiling grimly. "And eventually, it worked. Malfoy got mad enough to do exactly what I wanted."

"Huh," Harry said brightly, planting his feet on the floor. "Well, good on you, Marvolo. You wanted a war, and guess what?" He leaned forward, rising to his feet and jabbing a finger into the manila file folder. "You got one."

Scabior's eyes narrowed, and Harry cheerily moved his hand, flipping open the file.

"See this?" he asked. "That's your car. I got pictures of it from Astoria's party that night," he added, pointing to one picture in particular of the background of a selfie. "I used traffic camera footage to get this picture - " he pulled one out of the file, clearly showing Scabior's face, "to prove it was yours. Since you had no plates," Harry tutted disappointedly, shaking his head. "Which, by the way, is also illegal, though slightly less pressing than murder."

"So it was my car," Scabior said gruffly. "So what?"

"So this establishes intent," Harry told him. "Legal term," he added. "It's what makes things murder, you know. Ups the stakes. And _then_ ," he continued, pulling out another picture, "I placed you at the scene. The woman across from Astoria in the complex has a lot of cats, you see," he murmured, "and likes to keep an eye on them, so she has a nanny cam she likes to use while she's at work. And that," he added, tapping the picture, "is you, holding a gun. The very gun that I'm sure I'll find," he continued, pulling a piece of paper out of his back pocket, "when I use this warrant to search your home, warehouse, and office. Right?" he asked brightly. "Yeah, I'm right," he assured himself, watching Scabior's face drain of color.

"Doesn't matter," Scabior said gruffly. "I could still bring down the Death Eaters with me, you know that - "

"Well, see, if you fight it, then the rest of Greyback's crew will know what you were up to, and you know," Harry added, leaning forward, "prison's not going to keep you safe if they find out they were betrayed. They'll find you," he murmured, "won't they?"

Scabior visibly shuddered.

"You'll plead guilty and take whatever deal they offer you for first degree murder - which, I imagine, isn't much of a good one," Harry lamented with a sigh, "and you'll do the time for murder. And you'll leave the Death Eaters out of it, or you'll find yourself in a hell of your own making, won't you?"

Scabior said nothing. Harry took the file back, and stopped, eyeing the gun in Scabior's holster. "Ah, a Glock G19," he noted, gesturing to it. "I think I'll take that, if you don't mind. I'm missing one," he added, pointedly holding up the file, and Scabior's mouth slid into a pale white line as he unclipped it from his holster, placing it on the desk. "Great," Harry said, picking it up with a gloved hand. "I've got a few more officers waiting outside to take you into custody."

He turned, pivoting to exit the office, and paused, looking over his shoulder.

"By the way," Harry added, as Scabior eyed him, teeming with bitter resentment. "If you ever step foot in Diagon again, I will ruin you, because we are not the same. Do you understand?"

"Fuck you," Scabior spat venomously, and Harry smiled.

"I have a very good friend who uses that phrase as a term of endearment," he commented, chuckling to himself. "And I promise, even from him, it's never sounded so sweet."

* * *

"Hey," Fleur said, sitting outside his door as he arrived at his apartment. "Took you long enough."

"Oh, _hello_ , Fleur," Theo replied smoothly, making a show of casually withdrawing his keys from his pocket. "If that's even your real name, that is - "

She cut him off with a conspiratorial roll of her eyes. "I take it you found out, then?"

"That you're in the fucking FBI? Yes," Theo confirmed briskly, crossing his arms over his chest as he faced her. "Potter told me before I left the station."

"Huh," Fleur said, as stunningly unapologetic as ever. "So are you mad?"

He grimaced. "Confused," he corrected. "Pretty damned bewildered, actually."

She shrugged, as though she'd expected as much.

"Griphook's an FBI informant," she explained. "I was assigned to him when I started at the Bureau."

"Well - " Theo sighed. "Well, who the fuck are you?"

"My name is definitely Fleur," she told him. "And I _was_ a criminal, and technically I'm still a liar, so it's fine."

"A liar?"

"Griphook and I agreed not to report Tom's dealings," she assured him. "We figured your little club of deviants will be able to keep your heads above water without him. Though, if you don't - " she trailed off, shrugging. "I'll have to audit you, and it won't be sexy, and it _will_ hurt."

"Yikes," Theo said, and then relented, shaking his head as he reached down to pull her to her feet. "So you're actually a good guy?"

"Eh, not entirely," she assured him, accepting his hand and rising. "Griphook's got some … side projects," she admitted. "Bogrod, for one," she muttered, making a face, "which I'm willing to overlook, as he generally keeps his nose clean. I did get to arrest Viktor, which was fun," she added brightly. "What with it coming out about Griphook, we figured we'd have to take him down sooner rather than later." She paused, licking her lips, and then looked up at him, wincing. "Hope it makes sense now why I kept things from you," she murmured. "I didn't want you to be complicit in anything." She stepped closer, resting her hand on her chest. "You know. Since we're on the same team," she reminded him quietly, glancing up at him.

Theo fought not to be so thoroughly won over, or at least not to show it so enthusiastically.

"What about Cedric?" he pressed, feigning indifference. "And, you know. The underbelly?"

"Oh, Cedric and I were both bounty hunters for a while," Fleur explained flippantly. "Which is a _legal profession_ , by the way - but then I got caught doing some shit on the side. Some white collar crime, some tax evasion, you know." She shrugged. "So the FBI hired me in lieu of prison time."

"Christ," Theo said, frowning. "What?"

"Cedric's a really good roommate, though," she assured him. "Very clean. Sleeps with my boyfriends on occasion," she conceded, "but really, someone who does the dishes and doesn't fucking steal your hummus is such a rarity - "

"I do the dishes," Theo cut in. "And I'd never steal your hummus. I hate hummus."

"That's a lie, nobody hates hummus," she scoffed, and then paused. "Wait," she said uncertainly. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I told you I loved you," he reminded her, giving her a pointed nod. "Which you notably did not reciprocate, and which I assure you has not upset me in the slightest - "

She slid her arms around his neck, shaking her head.

"I love you," she told him, as unremarkably as if she were reflecting on the weather. "And if you buy a bigger bed and some higher quality sheets, I could see you as a palatable roommate."

"Well, good," he told her. "If you're going to be getting head from a gun-slinging roommate, I'd prefer it be me. And anyway, I was worried things were going to get boring in my life," he lamented dramatically, "what with my evil overlord dead and everything - "

"Open the door," she interrupted, gesturing to it, "and maybe I can make things interesting."

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her lips.

"Done," he said, and pulled her inside.

* * *

"Hey," Padma said brightly, catching her eye as she walked into the on-call room. "You're sprung, then?"

"I am," Hermione confirmed, attempting a smile that exhibited more profoundly as a grimace, the motion as torn between exhaustion and relief as she was. "They've said they're not going to prosecute."

"So you did it, though?" Dean asked, staring at her in awe. "You actually shot Tom Riddle?" She flinched, forcing a shrug, and he shook his head. "Damn, Granger," he muttered, letting out a low whistle. "And to think I thought you were scary _before -_ "

"Can we not talk about it?" Hermione cut in, rubbing her temple. "I've just come from a really long meeting with Pomfrey, and - "

"Oh god," Padma interrupted, leaning forward. "Has it happened? Am I finally free of the ongoing professional threat of your existence?"

"I'm on probation," Hermione informed her grimly, taking a seat between them on the couch. "Pomfrey says they're keeping me in the program, but it'll be a few weeks of charts and paperwork to get everything cleared with the hospital board before I can touch a scalpel again. And I know that's a good thing," she added firmly, sighing as she leaned her head back against the cushions. "A _great_ thing, actually, and probably more than I deserve - but for the first time that I can remember," she muttered, unrepentantly miserable, "all I want right now is to cut something open."

And it was true, really. _Do no harm,_ her mind whispered to her on repeat - the mantra of her career, of her _entire foundation_ \- and yet she still felt it under her fingers; the coil and release of the trigger. The crack and the pressure, and the noise and the smell of something acrid and sour in the air; the taste of falling from a height without looking back. The selfishness of it; of _harm_.

Of being the one to cause it.

Dean and Padma leaned over her, exchanging a look.

"Wow," Dean remarked. "How gloriously sadistic."

"Nah, it's probably a coping mechanism," Padma told him, unfazed. "She wants to cut something open so that she can fix it. So she can prove to herself," she added, turning to glance knowingly at Hermione, "that she's still capable of saving lives."

Hermione paused, not wanting to admit it.

"Deep," she eventually remarked, and to her relief, Dean rolled his eyes.

"What do you even know about psychology, Patil?" he prompted, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Bit out of your element, don't you think?"

"I was a psych major," Padma informed him brusquely. "I know more about it than _you_ do, Mr B.A. in Russian Literature - "

"That's _doctor_ B.A. in Russian Literature," he corrected her, "and how dare you not mention this after all the times I've accused you of needing a psych consult?"

At the start of what could only be a predictable round of banter, Hermione closed her eyes, sinking back against the cushions. She wondered, briefly, whether she might finally manage to sleep, but wasn't remotely surprised when the instant onslaught of thoughts - of _did that really happen? did I really do it? was it really me? -_ proved otherwise; so instead she sat, eyes closed, and listened to the sound of the blood in her veins.

After a second - a few seconds, wherein she could feel rather than hear Dean and Padma having a muted discussion from either side of her - Padma sighed, reaching out to pat Hermione's knee.

"Hold on," Padma said, the warmth of her disappearing from Hermione's side as the door was pulled open and shut.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. "Where's she going?"

"If we're lucky? Back to whatever demon hellhole made her," Dean contributed chipperly, and Hermione shook her head, sparing him a weak imitation of a laugh.

Padma returned a few minutes later with a suture tray, settling herself on the cot opposite the couch.

"What've you got there, Pat- _Jesus Christ,_ " Dean growled in horror, watching as Padma wordlessly lifted her undershirt and sliced a line into her stomach, wincing slightly before laying back on the bed.

"Padma," Hermione gasped, leaping to her feet after Dean. "What are you - "

"Well, _fix it_ , would you?" Padma demanded, gritting her teeth as the blood slipped over her abdomen. "Or are you going to let me bleed out?"

"I - " Hermione looked around, floundering. "This is _stupid_ , you can't - "

"Hey," Dean barked, tossing Hermione a box of latex gloves which she caught, clumsily, against her chest. "If she's going to do something stupid, you might as well fix it," he noted, gesturing wildly to where Padma was lying, her face scrunched up in pain.

"I - I need the tray," Hermione told him, pointing to it and shifting forward to kneel beside Padma. "And - more light - "

Dean grabbed the floor lamp, dragging it closer and angling it over the wound. "Here," he said brusquely, holding out the suture materials with his free hand. "Got it?"

Hermione took a breath, steadying herself. "I - "

"Hey," Padma said, snapping her fingers in Hermione's face. "If I scar, I'm going to _fucking_ murder you - "

"Okay," Hermione said, catching her breath and pulling a pair of gloves from the box Dean had thrown at her. "Yes," she said, feeling her mind gradually clear, shaken free of its guilt-ridden paralysis. " _Okay_ \- "

"Psych major," Dean muttered, shaking his head as Hermione picked up some gauze, preparing to clean the wound. "Total bullshit."

"But she feels better now," Padma said snottily, smirking at Hermione. "Right?"

Hermione didn't answer.

 _Do no harm,_ she thought again, and felt herself come back into focus; as though at long last, the engine had roared to life.

* * *

"Alright," Caleb Avery sighed, glancing around the room. They all seemed to have quietly agreed not to count their losses, silently ignoring the empty chairs. The only one that mattered, at least for the moment, was the vacant one at the head of the table, casting an unavoidable shadow over the rest. "This is obvious. We need a leader." Caleb took a breath; let it out. "Now more than ever."

He stopped, and there were a few scattered nods.

"Someone new," Caleb continued. "Fresh. Someone who isn't going to carry around the same divisive shit there was between Tom and Dumbledore. We've got a long way to go, and we've got to grieve. To _atone_ ," he added forcefully, and paused. "We've all got things to think about."

Draco glanced at his right, and Theo turned, catching his motion.

 _I'd have died for you,_ Theo had told him, before they'd both been taken away. _I'd have just as easily killed for you._

He took a deep breath, and Theo nodded.

 _I know,_ Draco had said. _And for you -_

 _I know,_ Theo agreed, and that had been enough. _I know._

"I'd like to nominate Draco Malfoy," Caleb continued, and Draco turned, startled. "If it weren't for him, none of this would have come out. I think we need someone young," he added. "Someone who can take us forward. Cut us off from who we've been."

"Seconded," Theo said, nodding, and Draco glanced at him again. "I second the motion. Draco is the brother I would follow anywhere," he assured them, and a few others at the table nodded their agreement. "He's the brother I trust to lead."

 _Wake up, Draco -_

 _Is it this life that destroys us, Draco, or were we fucked from the start?_

 _We told ourselves that if we're going to fall, we have to fall from high places -_

Caleb nodded, satisfied. "Shall we put it to a vote?"

 _We have to fail magnificently, and we do -_

"No," Draco interrupted loudly, and the heads swiveled to him, brows furrowing in unison. "No," he said again, rising to his feet. "I'm honored by the nomination," he assured them. "Really, I am. This is the day I dreamed of my whole life, but - " he trailed off. "But I thought I would be more worthy of it when it came."

He paused, clearing his throat, and then steadied himself.

"I nominate Theo Nott," he announced.

"What?" Theo demanded blankly, staring up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I may be the reason all of this came to light," Draco said, taking a deep breath, "but it took me longer to question it than it should have. This club deserves a president whose hands are clean," he urged. "Someone whose conscience is clear. Someone who's seen what they're capable of," he added meaningfully, glancing aside to meet Theo's eye, "but doesn't fear it. And who doesn't let it rule him, however fucked we were from the start."

He paused again, for a moment.

"This club," Draco reminded them, "has always stood for freedom. For freedom of conscience, to live without submission. To hold our convictions as king, and our brotherhood as sovereign above ourselves. I want a leader who believes in what this club stands for, not for what it does. Someone who can change directions when the path is wrong," he said firmly, looking up to scan the faces at the table. "I was given that opportunity," he told them, "and I balked. Theo didn't. Theo _wouldn't,_ " he amended, "and I trust him with this club. I trust him, implicitly, and I would rather put this club's fate in his hands than anyone else's."

There was a moment of stunned silence; even Theo looked astonished, his face frozen in something like bewilderment, until it gradually melted into appreciation, and he gave Draco a small, acknowledging nod.

 _Thank you,_ Theo mouthed, and Draco nodded back, closing a hand around his shoulder.

"So," Draco finished, taking a breath and looking around the table, "I nominate Theo."

"I second the motion," Darian contributed, watching from across the table. "Confidently," he added, giving the rest of the table a pointed glance, "and without reservation."

It took another beat; a heavy swell of time.

"Aye," Rowle said eventually. "I'm good with Nott."

"Aye," Caleb agreed, and the voices carried in unison around the table, eventually reaching Draco.

"Aye, of course," he said, looking over at Theo. "Better vote wisely," he murmured to him, and Theo's mouth twitched, accommodating a hesitant smile.

"I'll do it," he said slowly, "but this is a brotherhood. If you're all with me - "

"We're with you," Draco promised, and Theo nodded slowly, satisfied, as the motion passed, and Theo accepted the president patch, holding it reverently in his hands.

"The king is dead," Draco declared when the room had emptied, grinning at him, "long live the king. Use the power wisely, you shit," he added, reaching out to ruffle Theo's hair and smirking unmercifully as Theo ducked, making a face.

"Fuck off," Theo said, but he looked happier than Draco had seen him in months as he looked around the room, seeing it through new eyes. "We need a new table," he commented, knocking pointedly on the one they were leaning against. "A round one?"

"You would," Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes, and Theo grinned.

"What?" he asked. "It's sort of a tried-and-true symbol, don't you think?"

"It's corny as hell, and I regret this already," Draco told him firmly, throwing an arm around his shoulders and walking with him out of the boardroom. "You're an incurable hero."

Theo laughed, giving him a shove, and they settled into their usual cadence as they headed towards the front door, matching strides.

"Hey," Theo remarked uncomfortably, glancing over at him. "About what you said in there - "

"Hey, we're both spectacular failures, remember?" Draco assured him, cutting him off and skirting the inevitable disaster of emotional confession. "Me a little bit more than you, but why dwell on it? And anyway, you'd better get to work," he reminded Theo cheerily. "I think you probably have a financial crisis on your hands."

"Ah, fuck," Theo groaned. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"Hardly at all," Draco joked, and then they stopped, facing each other just before leaving the Manor.

"You're not leaving the club, are you?" Theo asked, and Draco shook his head.

"No," he told him. "I'll be here. I'll be your VP if you want," he added, "but I'll let you make that call after you've seen my qualifications."

"Your qualifications? I assume you mean your vampire complexion," Theo judged, enumerating on his fingers, "your oppressive blondness, the tireless way in which you are a gruesome, cockblocking fiend - "

"Yes, those," Draco sniffed, and Theo laughed; freely, for once, and without restraint.

"We're going to be okay, right?" Theo asked. "We're really going to be okay, aren't we?"

"We're going to have a really kitschy table, but yeah," Draco assured him. "We're going to be fine. You'll make sure of that," he said, flashing Theo a steadying look of sincerity. "And," he added loudly, "I'll be here to mock you while you do it."

Theo rolled his eyes.

"Get out of here, would you?" he prompted. "I've got shit to do."

"With pleasure," Draco confirmed, and turned promptly to the door, shoving it open without looking back.

He didn't need to, after all. He felt reasonably confident Theo would send him an emoji of an eggplant before the day was up.

Draco walked outside, shielding his eyes from the sun, and then paused, surprised, as he discovered he was not alone.

"Hey," Harry said, leaning against his cruiser and casually sipping a coffee. "Funny seeing you here."

"Funny that," Draco agreed, arching a brow. "You need your car fixed?"

"Oh right, you're a mechanic, aren't you?" Harry asked drily. "Any good at it?"

"I can fix a fucking car, dipshit," Draco retorted. "It's just one of my many, many, _many_ innumerable skills, so - "

"Brought you something," Harry interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a small pastry bag from the Leaky. "You good with a maple scone?"

"Am I 'good' with a maple scone?" Draco echoed. "For fuck's sake, Potter. You went maple?"

"Well, if you don't want it - "

"Give me the fucking scone," Draco snapped, snatching the bag from his hand and reaching inside, making a show of taking a bite. "Maple," he scoffed. "My god, could you _be_ more pedestrian - "

"I got it as an expression of gratitude, you know," Harry cut in, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest. "For - " he broke off, shrugging. "You know what for," he asserted, and Draco made a point of continuing to chew without expression. "I know everything sort of converged at the end there," Harry added with a grimace, "but I won't forget what you did for me."

Draco forced a swallow, clearing his throat.

"Yes, be sure that you don't," he managed eventually, snapping his fingers for Harry's coffee and then taking a sip once Harry had handed it to him, sighing deeply. "What?" Draco asked, glowering at him. "Who brings a man a scone without coffee?"

"Who asks a man for a scone?" Harry retorted.

"You know, your underappreciation of scones is yet another personal failing I'll have to remedy," Draco told him. "Consider it my civic duty."

"Is that a 'you're welcome'?" Harry demanded, squinting at him. "Is this you acknowledging my gratitude?"

"Don't, Potter, you're making my stomach hurt," Draco told him gruffly. "And anyway, I don't need to acknowledge _your_ gratitude. Obviously I'm aware that you've done a thing or two for me. Aside from this underperforming scone," he pointed out, not wanting to reference the details, and Harry gave him something that was half smile, half smirk.

"Call it even, then," he suggested casually, and Draco nodded.

"Yes," he replied. "Let's never discuss it again."

"Or anything," Harry agreed, but he nodded over Draco's shoulder, gesturing to the Manor. "They pick you for the new president?"

"Nope," Draco told him. "Theo."

"Huh," Harry said, impressed. "Not bad."

"Not at all," Draco agreed. "It was the right decision. Think about it," he added. "If they'd given it to me I'd have had to work with you." He scoffed, arching a brow as he took another bite of scone. "Unpalatable."

"You," Harry informed him, "are the living worst."

Draco snapped his fingers again, gesturing for more coffee, and Harry handed it to him, shaking his head.

"So," Harry ventured, as Draco took an overlarge gulp and handed it back, tucking the remainder of the scone into his pocket. "What are you going to do now?"

Draco glanced at his bike and leaned over, picking up his helmet.

"I've got an idea," he admitted, throwing it on carelessly. "You going to be around, Potter?"

"Yep," Harry said, setting his coffee on the roof of the cruiser before reaching out, attempting to buckle the helmet as Draco swatted his hand away. "Safety first, Malfoy - "

"Christ, I hate you," Draco told him, giving him a shove. "I can put on my own helmet, you cretin - "

"You should buy Ron a drink," Harry told him. "Don't you think? He helped."

"Every time I think you can't get any worse - "

"Rosmerta's," Harry suggested. "Tomorrow night? Nott, too, since you're attached at the hip - "

"Ah, cunt it all," Draco muttered, throwing a leg over his bike. " _Fine_."

"Where're you going?" Harry called, half-shouting over the sound of the ignition starting.

Draco, in spite of himself, gave into a smile.

"Home," he replied truthfully, and took off, not wanting to wait any longer.

* * *

 _She pulled the door open and Tom Riddle spun, turning to face her, his arm outstretched as he reached for Draco._

" _Just don't touch her," she'd heard Draco say through the door._

 _Don't touch him, she thought, and it consumed her._

 _It was as Daphne had said it would be; loud, and unsteadying, and the effort of the bullet leaving the chamber vibrated through her hand, leaving it thrumming until she could feel her pulse in the metal, syncopated and fast, and her ears rang with a thin, wailing pitch as the world closed itself around her, coming to a graceless halt._

 _Tom Riddle had looked furious, wrathful and enraged, and he had been taking a step towards her; like he would pluck her from existence, extinguish her like a flame, crush her between his fingers like a bug. But she'd been quicker, and he'd jerked back - tumbling, crashing, falling - and she'd stepped forward, wanting to watch him go; wanting to know, with bitter, painful certainty, that the man possessed the capacity to bleed._

 _It all seemed to happen so quickly, and yet it pulsed and stuttered and dragged; like some harbinger of time had been shocked into stillness; could not believe, could not process, could not think -_

 _I know, Hermione had thought. I know._

 _But then Draco's eyes opened, and they settled on hers, traversing miles; finding home._

" _Sorry," she told him, suddenly aware of footsteps behind her. They slowed, and then stopped, but she didn't turn around; she stared at Draco, trying to read his silence. "I, um - I needed to tell you something."_

 _Draco stared at her; she stared back at him, her breath caught by the feverish look in his grey eyes._

 _She tried, as she looked at him, not to think about the particularly puppet-like way that Tom Riddle had fallen: clumsily, the opposite of how he had lived. She tried not to think of how easy it had been to do it, and how very natural, and how the crook of her finger had beckoned his fall._

 _She was a surgeon, after all, and an efficient one. She knew exactly where to aim, and she had very, very reliable hand-eye coordination._

 _The best in her class, or so she'd been told._

 _"What is it?" Draco asked breathlessly, and then he was suddenly right in front of her, his arms tight around her, his fingers tangled in her hair, holding her feverishly close._

 _She nearly laughed in spite of herself, at everything that had changed; at how it still paled so pathetically to everything that had not._

" _I think Tom Riddle might be a bad guy," she said numbly, her lips buried in his shoulder. He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and taking her in, bit by bit, until his eyes had settled on every spare inch of her face, committing it to memory._

 _He looked up; looked at someone behind them. Then he looked back at her, and when his eyes met hers, it was with promise; with fealty. With devotion, with ardor; without fear._

 _"I love you," he told her, and she breathed it in._

 _There had been no question. He'd never had to say the words._

 _"Ride or die," she whispered back._

* * *

 _ **You know what I haven't heard in a while?**_

She smiled, shaking her head as she looked at her phone.

 _ **What?**_

 _ **A dick speech. It's almost like you're not impressed with my dick anymore? But that can't be right.**_

 _ **You know, I feel like I need a refresher. Is it just me, or has it been a hundred years?**_

 _ **Eons.**_

 _ **Well**_ , she typed in, _**what are you doing tonight?**_

 _ **Correction. What am I doing right now?**_

 _ **Now? Where ar**_

"I'm right here, Doc," he called, and she looked up, catching sight of him where he leaned against his bike, waiting outside the hospital entrance. "And you shouldn't type and walk. It's dangerous."

She smiled.

"Safety first," Draco informed her, "or so I've recently been advised. Though personally," he suggested smoothly, "I like a little danger, don't you?"

"You know," Hermione told him, shaking her head as she reached him. "You'd be ideal if you weren't so enigmatic."

"Or maybe if I weren't enigmatic, I wouldn't be ideal," he replied, reaching out, and she threaded her fingers through his. "Which is a thing I once said," he corrected himself, smirking at her, "and which is probably no longer true, seeing as you're the enigmatic one, aren't you?" He pulled her into him, resting his free hand on her hip. "Always so full of surprises," he murmured, his expression warming to gratitude, to wonder; to a mirrored awe of what they were.

"Well, I wouldn't want you if it were easy," she reminded him, smoothing his hair from his forehead. "Right?"

He leaned into her touch, briefly closing his eyes.

"Good thing, too," he said eventually, his fingers digging helplessly into her waist, "since I think easy is the one thing it wasn't."

She slid her hand from his with a sigh, fitting his face between her fingers and running her thumb along the angle of his cheek. She met his eye, held it, as she took a moment, reveling in the feel of him; in the exquisite rightness of having him, at last, without threat or restraint, and glorying in the promise of everything to come.

He was wrong, to some extent, about what it had been - what _they_ had been. It _was_ easy; natural, like breathing. Even beneath the weight of what had happened and the gravity of what had passed, it was as inescapable as night and dawn, and it was rare and stunning for its trials, and for how resolutely they had fought.

 _Nothing beautiful without struggle_ , she thought, and felt it; the pull of him, and what had always drawn him into her.

"I'm sorry," he started to say, and forced a heavy swallow, but she shook her head, silencing him with a look.

"Worth it," she whispered, and he leaned forward, drawing time and distance to a close and kissing her softly first, and gently, before letting it build; letting it unfurl, unfold, _crescendo_ until it became as entangled as they were, binding them breath for breath toward hazy, inevitable ascension, rising up from dust and ashes before settling them back on the ground.

She pulled away, her hand finding his as she looked down, taking in the skull and the snake on his wrist; the symbol of what he stood for. _I was born to a Death Eater who taught me that nothing is more important than power_ , she heard him say, _and a university professor who taught me that nothing is more important than being free -_

"So," Hermione exhaled slowly, aiming for nonchalance. "Which is more important: power, or freedom?"

He pulled his wrist from her grasp, tilting her chin up and sweeping the expanse of her face - slowly and reverently, inch by inch - until he gradually met her eye. He settled his gaze on hers, unbending, as if he would stay there, live there, die there; as if nothing would tear him away.

 _Ride or die -_

"Love," he said, and she caught her breath even as it quickened, racing towards something that was finally, _finally_ in sight.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _There is one chapter remaining (the epilogue) and it is coming in the next few days. Thank you a thousand times for reading! This chapter comes with extra love for Sally, my truest love, and also for arizonadaydreamer, clausumcormeum, haefnesa193,_ _and midnightsnacksfromthefridge!_

 _Also, Padma's comments on psychopathy are from an actual article called "When Your Child is a Psychopath," published in the June 2017 issue of The Atlantic. It's a fascinating (and insane) read._


	28. Epilogue: The City

**Epilogue: The City**

* * *

 _ **Four Years Later**_

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _9:00 a.m._

"Okay," Hermione exhaled, exuding something she hoped was positivity. "So. Who can tell me about Mrs Figg? Dr Creevey," she beckoned, nodding to him. "How about you?"

Dennis gave her a skittish nod in return, turning to the newly-installed desktop computer beside the hospital bed. "Arabella Figg, sixty-four," he began, clearing his throat. "Presented late last night with some pain in her right knee after a fall down the stairs."

"My cats," Arabella lamented to Hermione. "I should really put bells on them."

"Well, they are a shifty breed," Hermione offered soothingly, and Arabella gave her a weak smile.

"Mrs Figg underwent ACL repair after a similar fall four years ago," Dennis continued, scanning her chart, "and by the sound of it, there may be a problem with continuing instability in the ligament, so - "

"Dr Granger," a nurse interrupted, calling from the doorframe. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here asking for you specifically - she's rather hysterical," she added with a grimace. "A Mrs Knox, I believe? Or Nott? But I didn- "

"Oh my god," Hermione said frantically, her heart suddenly pounding as she shoved her clipboard into the hands of an intern she'd yet to memorize the name of. "Is she okay?" she demanded, hurrying into the corridor as the nurse followed doggedly behind her. "She's eight weeks pregnant," Hermione added nervously, hurrying around the corner as the nurse pointed down the hall. "Please be sure to note that in her chart - "

"Yes, yes, of course," the nurse assured her, scurrying after her and gesturing to a door down on the left. "She's just in here, Doctor - "

"Fleur," Hermione burst out, practically throwing herself through the doorframe before stopping abruptly, holding her hand to her chest. "Fleur, what happened?"

"Oh, god, _finally,_ " Fleur sighed, turning over her shoulder and hopping with some difficulty onto the exam table. "Do you know I've been waiting here for over twenty entire minutes?"

"Hey, Granger," Theo added, saluting her from the corner of the room with a grin. "Good morning."

It took a moment; and then -

"Oh my _god_ ," Hermione exhaled sharply, trying to calm her thudding pulse. "I thought you were dying!" she half-shouted. "I'm a _trauma surgeon,_ Fleur, they only call me when people are close to _bleeding out -_ "

"Well, then I don't see why you're so upset," Fleur sniffed, gesturing to herself. "I'm obviously fine."

"Fleur," Hermione barked, "for the actual sake of - "

"So," Theo drawled, rising to his feet and throwing his arm around her shoulder. "How've you been, Granger?" He gave her one of his most dazzling, least comforting grins. "What's new?"

"Theo," Hermione groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I just saw you yesterday."

"Yeah, well," he conceded, shrugging. "Forgive me for _asking_ , then - "

"What is this?" Hermione demanded, glaring between him and his wife. "Who are you here to see?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to be seeing some OBGYN," Fleur told her, looking sulky. "But I don't see the point, really, when you're obviously right here, and you can very clearly handle something as mundane as a pregnancy, so - "

"For the last time, Fleur, this isn't what I do," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "You need your blood drawn, and lab tests - and also," she recalled emphatically, "I'm currently _working_ , you know, at my _job_ \- "

"Yes, and about that - why _are_ you working?" Theo asked, surprised. "You didn't take the day off?"

"I was on call last night," Hermione informed him. "I'm off soon, and then I have nothing except for an appointment with Daphne this afternoon, so - "

"Well, lucky you, as I personally am going to be forced to spend my morning vomiting like mad," Fleur cut in, making a face. "So really, I think you should fix it."

Hermione, despite her affection, glared. "Fleur, I can't just - "

"Hermione," Fleur trumpeted carelessly, beckoning for her to come closer. "As my former maid of honor, and the likely godmother of my horrible Theo-spawn - "

"None taken," Theo quipped, propping himself down beside her.

" - I would think," Fleur continued, "that you would be willing to put your not-inconsiderable medical skills to use and _do something -_ "

"Or else," Theo finished for her, "she'll simply get the federal government to prosecute you for felony tax evasion."

"You have to stop using that as a threat," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes. "After four years, it's really losing its mettle."

"She said it to me in our vows," Theo reminded her. "I honestly think it means something different in her head."

"I'm going to vomit," Fleur announced.

Hermione sighed.

"Wonderful," she muttered, as the door opened behind her.

"Fleur?" the OBGYN ventured, stepping inside the waiting room. "Oh," he said, surprised. "Dr Granger, apologies, were you just - "

"I was just leaving, Dr Corner," Hermione assured him, flashing Fleur and Theo a silencing glare. "It's their first baby, so they're clearly leaning into their more unfortunate bouts of lunacy." She headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder. "I'll see you two tonight, yes?"

"Yes," they replied in unison, one more happily than the other.

"Provided this doctor doesn't make me wait all day," Fleur added under her breath, glaring pre-emptively at him, and Hermione shook her head.

"You two," she told them, wagging a finger, "are terrible."

"We know," they sang in unison, and Hermione sighed, heading back into the corridor.

* * *

 _ **Theo and Fleur  
**_ _Two years, three months ago  
_ _9:30 p.m._

"Well, it's happened," Fleur lamented dramatically, eyeing the ring on her finger. "I'm officially trapped."

"You can still leave if you want," Theo assured her, pulling her closer. "I'd certainly understand."

Fleur grimaced.

"Nah," she said, taking a minute to consider it and then shrugging. "All my stuff is here."

"True," Theo agreed. "Plus we have a couch together."

"Also true," she said, rolling over to face him. "It's a nice couch."

"Very supportive," he agreed. "Roomy."

"Aesthetically pleasing," she contributed, and he kissed her, his hands slipping over her bare hip and then slyly drawing her legs apart, curving his palm over her inner thigh.

"Should we have stayed longer through the reception?" he asked, his voice muffled into the crook of her neck. "What if Potter was serious about giving a speech?"

"When is Harry Potter ever _not_ serious about giving speeches?" Fleur retorted, letting Theo roll her onto her back. "I hope he's giving one right now. Oh," she added brightly, "and I hope Draco's crying."

"Oh, Draco's definitely crying," Theo agreed, nipping at her collarbone and fitting his hips against hers. "Weeping, like the magnificent goon that he is."

"You joke, but I'm fairly confident that I saw him get a little teary," Fleur said, curling her hand around the back of his neck. "He's gotten so fucking sentimental, don't you think?"

"It's criminal," Theo agreed. "He's probably sobbing into his cake as we speak."

"Ooh, cake," Fleur groaned, arching her hips up against him. "Maybe we should go back."

Theo looked up, abandoning his ministrations in the basin of her chest. "For cake?" he demanded, propping himself up on his elbows. "I'm giving you sex, and you want cake?"

"We have sex all the time," she reminded him. "How many times do we get red velvet from the Leaky?"

He paused for a moment, considering it, and then sighed.

"True," he conceded, and leapt up, rearing back on his haunches and sliding his feet out to plant them on the floor. "Alright, then let's just - "

"I'm joking, you loon," Fleur said loudly, yanking him onto his back and then straddling him, shaking her head. "Sex first, _then_ cake, and then - "

They both groaned at the sound of Theo's phone ringing.

"If that's Draco - "

"It is," Fleur confirmed, picking up Theo's phone and glancing at the screen. "What should we do?"

"Give me that," Theo growled, taking the phone from her hand and promptly dropping it in the glass of champagne on the nightstand. "There," he declared, yanking her against him and rolling her over, pointedly kissing the side of her neck. "Now," he continued, slowly making his way down her torso. "Where were we?"

She smiled, giving his head a shove.

"Right about there," she said, and closed her eyes, sighing beatifically.

 **oOo**

"Well?" Hermione prompted, still holding Fleur's bouquet as she and Draco stood outside the vineyard Theo and Fleur had chosen for their wedding reception. "Are they coming back?"

"Doubt it," Draco said, frowning, as the call eventually went to voicemail. "Huh," he said, shrugging, and slid his arm around her waist, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Alright then."

"Hey," Hermione said, glancing up at him as they walked back to the dance floor. "You think we'll ever do this?"

"Skip out on cake? Doubtful," Draco said, and she laughed.

"No," she corrected. "You know. The whole wedding thing," she said, gesturing around the venue. "White dresses and tuxes and pastel jordan almonds - "

"There are no jordan almonds," Draco corrected, making a face, "but sure, someday." He leaned over, kissing the top of her head. "Whenever you want to."

"Hm," Hermione agreed, leaning into his touch and smiling. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _10:00 a.m_

"Look," Harry said, gesturing grandly to Draco's side of the table. "Scone."

"My goodness, what a treat," Draco remarked drily, sliding into the booth. "And what, pray tell, is the occasion?"

"You know very well what the occasion is," Harry admonished him, as Theo suddenly materialized, shoving Harry over and immediately picking up his coffee.

"Well, good news," Theo announced, taking a loud slurp from Harry's mug and then setting it down with a clatter. "We are ninety-percent confirmed that Fleur's having a human baby."

"Are we sure it's yours?" Draco asked, and Theo ignored him, reaching over to break off part of his scone and tossing it into his mouth with pointed disinterest. "Speaking of babies," Draco remarked, glancing over at Harry. "Where's Mira?"

"She's at home with Daphne," Harry told him. "I'm picking her up later when Daphne goes to the salon."

"Too bad," Theo said. "I already like her more than I like you."

"Well, not hard," Harry agreed. "She's a lot cuter."

"Talks less, too," Draco pointed out. "I really admire that about her."

"She's only a year old," Harry reminded him. "She doesn't say anything except 'daddy' and 'bye-bye' - "

"Oh, so same as Draco, then," Theo commented, and Draco promptly kicked him under the table. "How'd you pick her name, by the way?" Theo asked Harry, whose brow furrowed curiously at the question. "I'm worried Fleur's going to come up with something obscenely French," Theo explained, making a face. "Like croissant, or baguette - "

"Beautiful," Draco said, nodding his approval. "Truly."

"Mira is Sanskrit," Harry supplied, swatting Theo's hand away and raising his mug of coffee to his lips. "Not that Daphne and I know the language, obviously," he added, giving Theo a pointed shove as he reached over again, "but Padma gave us the idea right around the time we'd given up on the baby name books."

"An unusual choice, but you've done stranger things," Draco remarked. "Like the time you brought me a maple scone, for instance - "

"Well, first of all, _that_ one's vanilla buttercream," Harry informed him, pointing to it, "and secondly, _when_ are you going to let that go?"

"Never," Draco and Theo said in unison, as Draco brought the scone to his mouth, pointedly taking an excessive bite.

* * *

 _ **Harry and Daphne  
**_ _One year, eight months ago  
_ _1:43 p.m._

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "We can - we can figure this out, right?"

"Right," Daphne agreed. "I, um." She swallowed, hesitating. "I know it's sudden, but - "

"Well, it's not _that_ sudden," Harry corrected with a laugh, shaking his head. "We've been living together for over two years."

She looked like she wanted to laugh, but couldn't quite manage it.

"You'd think I'd have been more careful," Daphne said, biting her lip. "But maybe it's not such a bad time, you know? I mean, I know the salon's only been open for a year," she ventured hesitantly, "but I think I can still make it work. And if you don't want to, um, you know - " she trailed off. "You don't have to," she said, clearing her throat. "Or, I guess," she amended, taking a deep breath, " _we_ don't have to, if you don't want to, um - "

She stopped, furiously rubbing at her cheek. "We don't have to keep it if you don't want to," she managed quietly, and Harry's eyes widened, suddenly realizing why she'd been so reluctant to tell him.

"Daph," he said, stepping towards her. "Babe."

She blinked, staring at her bare feet and studiously avoiding his eye.

"Daphne," he said again, softer this time, and tilted her chin up. "Do you think I don't want this?"

He watched her mouth quiver, furiously holding back whatever she'd been loath to say.

"I - " she began, and broke off, taking a deep breath. "I just - we hadn't talked about it, and - and I don't want to pressure you, so - "

"Daphne, I love you," he told her, taking her face in his hands and letting her fears dissipate to a helpless sputter. "I've loved you since the moment you put my own gun to my head," he reminded her, and she laughed in spite of herself, the sound emerging as a tearful hiccup. "No, actually," he amended, shaking his head and correcting himself. "Before that. I've loved you, Daphne Greengrass," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek, "since the moment I first saw you."

Daphne slowly let out the breath she'd been holding, teetering on the brink of succumbing to relief. "I love you too," she ventured slowly, "but still, this is - this is _big_. This is a lot of change, and - "

She let her voice taper to nothing, and Harry sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"I've wanted a family with you for longer than I think it's safe to admit," he confessed, letting his hands slip to her shoulders. "And sure, maybe this isn't the order I'd have done things in, but - " he broke off, shrugging. "I want this baby. I want _our_ baby. And I want a life with you," he added, searching her face. "You gave me everything I ever wanted. You gave me a home. You gave me the family I never got to have," he told her, and stepped back, resting his hand tentatively on her stomach. "You gave me a family."

"This is our _family_ ," he said quietly, staring down with his voice hushed in awe, and she, who'd been holding back tears, let one slip down her cheek, covering his hand with hers.

"Well," she attempted, forcing her throat clear of excess emotion. "If it's a girl," she began uncertainly, and Harry nodded; guessing, as he often did, what she was about to suggest.

"Astoria," he said, and she nodded slowly, relieved. "And if it's a boy?"

"James?" she offered, and he nodded, holding tightly to her hand.

They paused for a moment, sharing their darker places and considering their respective ghosts; knowing, as they did, that that was what had always drawn them together, and what had endeared them to each other, even in their lowest lows.

But _this_ , they both seemed to realize at once, was a height, and so they both seemed to hesitate, looking up at the same moment.

"Actually," Daphne ventured first, cringing slightly. "Maybe it's not fair to make them live up to who we've lost."

Harry, who'd been thinking something similar, nodded his agreement.

"Something else, maybe," he suggested. "Something that's ours?"

Daphne put her hand over his, tilting her chin up to kiss him.

"Something that's ours," she agreed, and he pulled her closer, securing his world in his arms.

 **oOo**

"I think Daphne's pregnant," Hermione remarked elsewhere, turning to Draco in the car. "I'm not sure, but - "

"Huh," Draco said, toying with her fingers as he slowed to a stop, waiting at a red light. "Well," he ventured, raising her hand to his lips and nipping at her knuckles, "you _do_ know that Potter's had a ring for about six months, right?"

"What?" Hermione asked, startled. "Seriously?"

"Yep," Draco confirmed, nodding. "Carries it around and everything."

"Wow," Hermione remarked, letting out a breath. "Why doesn't he just ask, then?"

Draco shrugged. "Waiting for the right time?" he guessed. "Never can tell what Potter's thinking."

"Hm," Hermione said, turning back to the road as Draco stepped on the gas, her hand still in his. "Interesting."

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _11:00 a.m._

"Hey," Seamus called, looking up as she walked into Rosmerta's. "Did you just get off work?"

"Yes," Hermione groaned, shaking her head. "Theo and Fleur stopped by for their first prenatal appointment, so - "

"Oh _no_ ," Dean laughed, emerging from the back of the bar. "Should have warned you that they asked me yesterday if you were going to be at the hospital."

"Yes, you should have," Hermione agreed, glowering at him as Seamus chuckled to himself, removing an opened bottle of pinot gris from the wine fridge beneath the bar and pouring Hermione a few sips' worth.

"Here," he offered, sliding it towards her. "Indulge."

"Thanks," she sighed, lifting the glass to her lips. "Everything all set for tonight?"

"You know it," Seamus assured her. "Food's all set, and the booze, of course - and I think Dean missed his gay calling as an interior decorator, honestly - "

"Shut up," Dean said, rolling his eyes as Hermione sputtered in laughter. "And what on earth is a 'gay calling,' anyway?"

"Something I heard from Gilderoy," Seamus told him, shrugging. "Did you know he's still calling Cedric his 'gay lover'? Not even technically accurate," he lamented. "Though I suppose 'loosely bisexual lover' _is_ a bit of a mouthful - "

"You know, what shocks me is that Gilderoy hasn't been committed," Dean said, and Hermione nodded her agreement into her wine glass, gesturing her conspiratorial approval. "I can't believe there was never anything medically wrong with him."

"Shocks me even more that Cedric actually finds his insanity endearing," she added, before covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Yikes," she sighed, brushing moisture from her eyes. "Sorry."

"Hey, go take a nap," Seamus told her, snapping his fingers at her and pointing to the door. "Go get your hair done," he suggested. "Nails, too. Treat yourself, girl - "

"Ah, gay calling," Dean remarked, tapping his mouth. "I get it."

" - it's _your night_ ," Seamus continued, ignoring him. "Might as well look rested."

"It's not _my_ night," Hermione reminded him, and Seamus shrugged, openly disagreeing.

"Say what you want," he said, "but everyone's going to be looking at you, so - "

"Oh, stop," Hermione sighed, sliding the glass back towards him and picking up her bag. "You're sure everything's all set?" she pressed, rising slowly to her feet. "Are you absolutely _sure_ there's nothing else you need from m- "

"We've got it covered, Granger," Dean cut in, taking hold of her shoulders and nudging her towards the door. "We'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," she called, shaking her head and waving over her shoulder before heading out towards her car.

* * *

 _ **Dean and Seamus  
**_ _Three years, two months ago  
_ _8:42 p.m._

"You know what's funny?" Dean ventured, settling himself beside Seamus on their couch. "I think some people really consider it a mystery why I came back to Diagon."

"Well," Seamus said, taking a sip of his blonde ale, "there's the hospital, and your friends. And the Leaky Cauldron's bagels," he added, grinning at him. "So it's kind of a no-brainer, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean said, chuckling. "Yeah."

They settled themselves beside each other, watching the screen for a few minutes of uninterrupted silence before Seamus quietly cleared his throat.

"You know," he began carefully, "if you ever wanted to go somewhere else - " he shrugged. "I would go with you."

"Sea," Dean sighed, glancing over at him. "Rosmerta _just_ gave you the bar."

"No, I know," Seamus agreed, nodding. "I just meant that if you ever wanted to do something different. I could always sell it, you know. Plus, I don't _have_ to own a bar," he added, succumbing to a fit of babbling. "I mean, you're a doctor - you literally _save lives,_ so it's not like what I do is some kind of equally worthy pursuit, really, and - "

"Seamus," Dean cut in, reaching over to take a fistful of his cotton t-shirt and yanking him closer. "What the fuck is bothering you?"

Seamus grimaced, leaning forward to set his beer down and then turning to face Dean.

"I just don't want you to feel like you're living a little life," Seamus told him carefully. "That because you're with me, your world can only be small, you know? You're just so damn smart, Dean," Seamus continued, looking unusually vulnerable, "and you're talented, and - and _capable_ , and I don't want you to be trapped in Diagon just because I'm - "

"Seamus," Dean said again, swallowing hard. "I came back for you. You know that, right?" he insisted, pulling Seamus closer. "You _know_ that."

"Yeah, but - "

"My world could never be small," Dean told him, shaking his head. "Not with you in it."

"I just - "

"I love you," Dean said flatly. "I loved you when we were kids, and I love you now, and I will love you no matter where we are, and no matter what we do. My world will never be small with you. Okay?" he asked, a little gruffly. "You got that?"

Seamus leaned forward, kissing him firmly, and then let out a ragged sigh, their pulses joining and skipping; leaping apart just to unite, just as they'd always done.

"It wasn't _just_ me," Seamus muttered into Dean's mouth, and Dean laughed.

"The bagels, too," he agreed. "They're fucking good bagels."

"I knew it," Seamus declared, and Dean slipped his hands under his shirt, ridding them of the fabric between them.

 **oOo**

"Hey," Hermione said in her kitchen, turning to Draco over a garlic rosemary bagel; her favorite, as it turned out. "I think there's a spot open in Seamus and Dean's apartment complex."

"Oh," Draco said carefully. "You thinking of moving?"

"Thought you might want to come with me, actually," she suggested, feeling a little nervous. "You know. Since you're mostly here, anyway. Their building has a garage for your bikes," she told him, "and - "

"Actually," Draco interrupted, setting his bagel down. "Funny you should ask about your living situation, because I had a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. "Do tell."

"Mom finally sold Dad's house," he said. "She gave me the money from the sale, so it's enough for a pretty hefty down payment. I thought we could buy a place," he suggested, his voice carefully light. "If you wanted. A house with more rooms. And a yard," he offered. "You know. In case we ever wanted to, um - "

"Fill it?" she prompted. "With - "

"Bikes," he joked. "Or cats?"

"Right," she agreed, and then hid her smile, taking another bite of bagel. "So," she said. "I mean, I think I could do that. You know," she added, clearing her throat. "If you want."

"I want," he assured her.

"Good," she said, snagging another dollop of schmear and hiding a smile behind a crescent of garlic and rosemary.

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _12:00 p.m._

"This," Draco said, "is _hilarious_."

"Oh, shut up," Harry retorted, buckling his helmet under his chin and glaring over at Draco. "If you _recall_ , I brought in some money for the club by getting a few of these for the department, so - "

"Still," Draco chuckled. "You on a motorcycle is just so - "

"Oh my fucking god, it never gets old," Theo crowed, stepping out from the Leaky in time to see Harry glower at Draco. "Look at _you_ ," he called suggestively, whistling his appreciation and clapping a hand around Harry's shoulder. "Are you lost, baby?"

"Oh, shove it up your - "

"Hi, Mr Malfoy," someone called, interrupting, and Draco took a deep breath and turned, steadying himself before waving back.

"Hi," he offered warmly, vaguely recognizing the woman from a city luncheon a few days prior. "Enjoying yourself today? Good weather," he noted, gesturing to the sky. "Always a good sign."

"Yes, a beautiful day," the woman agreed. "Best of luck tonight!"

"Thanks," Draco called back, managing a smile that was very nearly not forced. "Have a good one," he added, nodding to her as she left, and then he turned back to Harry, who was grinning broadly. "What?" Draco sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Nothing," Harry said, relentlessly amused. "Just noting how friendly you're being, that's all."

"Hey, it's a big day," Draco reminded him. "I'm in a good mood."

"A rarity in itself," Theo noted, ducking Draco's swift backhand to the shoulder as Ron pulled up in his cruiser, sticking his head out the window.

"Hey, Chief," he called, nodding to Harry. "Malfoy, Nott," he added, and Draco and Theo nodded back.

"Hey, Weasley," Draco returned, ignoring Harry's overlarge grin at the interaction. "You coming tonight?"

"Yeah, of course," Ron returned. "Provided the bossman over there doesn't keep me on duty too long," he added, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Stop calling me that," Harry said. "You know you set your own schedule."

"Eh, more fun this way," Ron said, as Draco smirked his agreement. "Just finishing up?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "Going to pick up Mira so Daphne can do Hermione's hair."

"Blech, girl stuff," Ron muttered. "Padma mentioned she was headed over there, too. Went on for about ten minutes about something called a balayage," he added. "Which, I don't know what that is, but it sounds like some kind of yoga stuff, right?"

"It's a technique for doing highlights," Harry told him, and then glanced between Draco and Theo as they each skeptically arched a brow. "What?" he demanded. "I listen when my woman talks."

"So do I," Theo said. "But she's normally threatening to kill me."

"Ah, the dream," Draco commented, shaking his head. "I'd like to think I listen to Hermione, but her stories usually end with 'and then they died,' so some things slip through the cracks."

"Same," Theo declared, and threw a leg over his bike. "Anyway, I better go," he said, fastening his helmet. "Have to get back to the Manor to finish up some things before tonight."

"Need help?" Draco asked him, and Theo made a face.

"Oh, fuck off, Draco," he said flippantly, shrugging. "Go have Potter pick out your tie or something - "

"That," Harry said, "would be my absolute pleasure."

"Bad call," Ron said, stepping out from his cruiser and heading into the Leaky. "I'm pretty sure Harry's colorblind."

"A fine quality for a police chief," Theo conceded. "Less so for someone wearing clothes."

Harry sighed. "Go away, Nott," he grunted, and Theo grinned, glancing over at Draco.

"See you soon," he said with a wink, and then he pulled away, giving all three of them an irreverent salute.

* * *

 _ **Draco and Theo  
**_ _Three years ago  
_ _7:53 p.m._

"Well, fuck," Theo said, looking over the invoices as Draco set a frosted glass bottle down in front of him; a middling-quality IPA. "Turns out that my father was right."

"About what?" Draco asked, opening his own beer and falling into the chair beside him. "How money doesn't grow on trees?"

"That, and that the government takes too much damn money," Theo grumbled. "Do you realize how much we would owe in back-taxes if I weren't incurably corrupt?"

"You mean if your girlfriend ever decided to audit you?" Draco corrected, and Theo ignored him.

"The shop's fine as a source of income," Theo sighed, "but it won't be anything like it was under Tom. Obviously we had other issues then," he amended hastily, grimacing. "Ninety-nine problems, am I right?"

"Well, maybe Darian's got something up his sleeve," Draco suggested. "He's been the de facto shop owner for about a decade."

"He says we're technically licensed dealers," Theo confirmed. "Though I don't think there's much of a market in this town for Harleys outside the Manor's front doors, eh?"

"Who knows?" Draco said, shrugging. "Potter's going to be Chief soon. Why don't you ask him?"

"Ask him?" Theo echoed, gagging. " _Ask_ him?"

"Well, aside from the small detail of him having been quite helpful in the past," Draco reminded him, "he's sort of a well-connected guy, don't you think? Tell him we'll help out Daphne," Draco added. "I bet she's looking to open her own salon, and we have a few expiring leases on the buildings downtown."

"True," Theo acknowledged. "I forgot about the real estate we own. Though, we may have to get Cormac on board for that," he said with a grimace. "There's something very wrong about him," he muttered. "Mostly how much he _isn't_ Goyle - "

"But hey, Susan's doing better, so it'll be a win all around," Draco said. "Right?"

"Right," Theo sighed, and then shoved the invoices away, leaning back to look at Draco. "How are you, by the way?" he asked, scrutinizing him for a moment. "Do you still - "

"Have nightmares?" Draco asked, grimacing. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Sometimes."

They were silent for a moment.

"I still hear him sometimes," Theo admitted. "Greyback. The whole - " he shuddered. "Your kills will never leave you - "

"They'll sleep with you at night, like little ghosts," Draco muttered, swallowing, and they both seemed to unconsciously lean towards each other, propelled forward by the aftertaste of memory.

"Did we - " Theo began, blanching, and stopped. "Did you ever wonder if it would have gotten worse?"

"It would have," Draco said, recalling Tom's leverage; the pieces of his heart. "It would have been far worse than Greyback."

"Do we deserve this, then?" Theo asked. "The break we got? The life," he clarified, gesturing around them, "that we got? We were the villains," he exhaled regrettably. "Weren't we?"

Draco hesitated, uncertain.

"Would you have done anything different?" he asked instead. "If you could have. Would you have - "

"No," Theo said, shaking his head. "No."

Another several moments passed in silence.

"I think," Draco attempted slowly, "that if you don't think you deserve happiness, then you don't know you like I do."

Theo looked up, a slow grin passing over his lips.

"Man," he said. "I wish there was a way to send you a dick emoji in real life."

"I hate you," Draco said, and then relaxed, leaning back to take a sip of his beer.

 **oOo**

"Hey," Draco said, walking into his apartment to find Hermione reading on his couch. "I thought you were working late tonight."

"I was," she said, rising to her feet, "but I passed eighty hours this week, so - "

She trailed off, watching him.

"You okay?" she asked, and he sighed, nodding slowly.

"Yeah," he assured her, taking her in his arms. "Yeah, I am."

He rested his chin on top of her head, letting her burrow herself into his chest.

"It's hard to think about how it's been a year," she commented, pressing her lips into his shoulder. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, letting out a toxic breath and trading it for relief, taking in the smell of her hair.

"What if," she whispered, "we don't sleep tonight? We just stay up," she said. "Sex. Bagels. Shower. More sex," she suggested. "We just spend an entire night being _alive_ , you know?"

He pulled away, looking down at her. "You sure?"

"It's wildly unhealthy," she told him, nodding firmly. "And I think we should do it."

He blinked, processing it.

"I think I should marry you," he exhaled, awed in spite of himself.

She smiled.

"Someday," she agreed, and led him into the bedroom.

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _2:00 p.m._

"Hey," Hermione said, stepping inside the salon - named, aptly, _Serpentine_ \- and taking a deep breath, enjoying Daphne's signature mix of coconut and sandalwood. "I am so, so glad to be here."

"And I'm so, so glad _you're_ here," Daphne said brightly, gesturing to the first salon chair. "A timely arrival, too, seeing as we've got company."

"Company?" Hermione echoed, just as Padma and Fleur emerged from the back room.

"Hey," Padma called, holding up a bottle of prosecco. "Look what Daph's got."

"Not that _I_ can have any," Fleur said morosely, throwing herself down in the chair next to Hermione's. "Stupid, if you ask me," she growled, staring down at her stomach. "How badly can I mess up this thing anyway?"

"Speaking as a medical professional? Pretty badly," Padma told her grimly. "You _do_ know that you're growing its brain right now, right?"

"I _meant_ ," Fleur sniffed, "how badly can I mess it up more than Theo will ultimately ruin it?"

"Okay, that's fair," Daphne ruled, shaking her head and loosening Hermione's hair from its clip. "Alright, how do you want it?" she asked her, gently combing her fingers through the curls.

"Oh, you know," Hermione said, shrugging. "However."

"God, she must be your worst client," Padma scoffed, and Daphne laughed.

"Just tell me if you want it up or down," she suggested, and Hermione groaned.

"Up," she said, and then shook her head. "No, wait, down - "

"Half-up it is," Daphne ruled, tousling her curls at her scalp and then turning pointedly to Padma. "Glasses are over there," she reminded her, gesturing, and Padma nodded, rising to get them.

"Where's Mira?" Padma asked her, pulling three champagne flutes from behind the counter. "How are we supposed to have a girl's day without our best girl?"

"You're asking where my baby daughter is while you drink champagne?" Daphne asked drily, pursing her lips, and Fleur made a face.

"That's prosecco," she corrected. "Champagne is _French_."

"You're such an irredeemable snot," Padma exhaled cheerfully, catching Hermione's eye in the mirror and smirking as Fleur shrugged her agreement.

"Speaking of French," Daphne remarked, glancing over at Fleur, "I heard Theo's afraid you're going to name your kid Croissant."

"As if I would do that," Fleur scoffed. "If anything, I'd go Millefeuille."

"Sounds nice," Padma said, pouring a glass and handing it to Hermione. "What is it?"

"A dessert," Hermione told her, and Fleur grinned broadly.

"I bet Theo'd buy it," she announced. "Nobody tell him until I've tricked him for at least a full trimester."

"Done," Daphne agreed, nodding firmly. "Motion seconded. All in favor?"

"Aye," Padma and Hermione said in unison, toasting each other as they raised the glasses to their lips.

* * *

 _ **Ron and Padma  
**_ _Two months ago  
_ _10:17 p.m._

"Oh shit," Ron said, throwing down his bag and setting himself down on the coffee table across from where Padma was sat on the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Padma sobbed, her voice muffled behind her hands. Ron sighed, reaching out to rub her shoulder.

"Did you not get the residency at Stanford?" he asked, attempting to be gentle. "I'm so sorry, baby, I know you wanted it - "

"No, that's not - " Padma looked up, hiccuping. "No, I got it," she gasped, her face stained with tears. "But - _but_ \- "

"What's the problem?" Ron asked, frowning, and then processed what she'd said. "Wait, you got it, Padma? _Babe_ ," he exclaimed, reaching for her hand. "I'm so proud of you - "

"No, fuck, _stop_ ," she wailed, yanking her hand from his reach. "I got it, but - but I - "

Ron floundered, helpless, trying to conjure the right words as she continued to sob on the couch.

"Look," he said carefully, "I know we never talked about this, but - " he sighed, grimacing. "Look, if you're - if you want me to, I'll go with you," he told her. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," he added, feeling slightly cheered as she slowly looked up, sniffling, "and I really do want to go with you. If you want the residency there, I'll go. If you want me, that is," he amended hastily, and she blinked, tearfully staring at him.

"You'd go?" she asked, and he nodded, somewhat sheepishly.

"Yeah," he said uneasily. "I - I really care about you, and I love you, and - " he groaned, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. "And anyway, what the hell are you crying about?" he demanded, glaring at her.

She leaned back, indignant. "I'm _upset_ ," she informed him unnecessarily, "because I got an oncology fellowship at St Mungo's, and I took it. And it's a great offer," she whined, "and a perfect opportunity, but - "

"But _what_?" Ron protested. "That - it sounds like a good thing, but if you're upset because you're staying, then - "

"I'm not upset because I'm staying," Padma cut in furiously, glaring at him. "I'm upset I _want_ to stay, because you tricked me into falling in love with you!"

Ron blinked.

"What?" he asked vacantly, and she let out another loud wail.

"I was supposed to get _out_ ," she yelled, "but now I _want_ to live in this stupid small town and work in this stupid perfect program and live with my stupid cop boyfriend and my stupid friends that I _stupidly made_ \- "

"Wait, slow down," he told her, pulling both hands from her face and holding them still. "So you're staying?" he asked, staring at her in disbelief. "You want to stay with me?"

She gulped comically, her eyes swollen and red.

"I want to stay with you," she confirmed, and he yanked her against his chest, kissing her hard.

 **oOo**

"So," Hermione said, climbing onto Draco's lap. "Big news: I'm an attending physician now."

"Perfect," Draco said, promptly tossing his book aside and slipping his hands under her blouse. "I've always wanted to have sex with an attending physician."

"We're not playing doctor again," she told him, letting her head fall back. "I'm too tired to think about what fake operation to have."

"Not to worry," he told her, slipping her blouse over her shoulders and then pressing his lips to the lace of her bra. "I'll take care of you, Doc."

"Padma's staying," she added, closing her eyes. "She got the oncology fellowship she wanted, so she's going to stay in Diagon after all."

"Mm, too bad," Draco said, slipping lower to kiss her abdomen. "I was hoping she'd leave and take Weasley with her."

"You don't mean that," Hermione admonished, letting out a small squeak as Draco ducked his head under her skirt, biting down on the inside of her thigh. "You're all talk."

"Am not," he murmured, adjusting his shoulders beneath her and then sliding her underwear aside to prove it. "See?"

"Oh," Hermione agreed. " _Oh -_ "

"Told you," he muttered, and she gave his hair a sharp tug, shaking her head before letting out a quiet gasp.

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _4:00 p.m._

"So," Harry said, walking into Draco's bedroom after settling Mira with Gilderoy, who had turned out to be quite an apt nanny; it had helped, of course, that Gilderoy's presence usually came with Cedric's, and in terms of child safety, there was no better chaperone. "Need a pep talk?"

"No, I decidedly do not," Draco told him, straightening his tie. "I think I can manage to stand quietly and smile for the cameras, don't you?"

"Oh, come on," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's a speech involved."

"Yeah, well, somehow I think I can manage it," Draco said. "I am, as you know, unfairly burdened with talent."

"That, and you'll have Theo and me standing up there with you," Harry reminded him. "So if you panic - "

"Yeah, yeah," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Somehow I think having Hermione there too will be sufficient, don't you?"

"I would hope so," Harry agreed, "and yet there are no guarantees." He removed a piece of lint from Draco's suit, nodding once. "Odd," Harry commented, scrutinizing him. "It's almost as if you're _not_ a total miscreant."

"A masterful deception," Draco confirmed airily. "I should win an award."

"You should win something," Harry agreed, stepping back with a nod. "All set, I think," he judged. "Theo's meeting us at Rosmerta's, so - "

"Hey," Draco said, reaching out without prelude to grip Harry's shoulder. "Thanks, Potter."

"What?" Harry asked. "Are you expressing gratitude? I'm sorry," he lamented obnoxiously, "but I'm afraid that just doesn't compute - "

"Your support," Draco went on gruffly, "has been invaluable - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry growled, shaking his head and giving Draco a shove out the door. "Don't do this, would you?"

"Look!" Gilderoy declared, hoisting Mira in the air and displaying, proudly, the length at which he had gone to set her wispy dark curls in plaits. "I'm ever so relieved you've taken my advice and put her in a summer palette. The eyes," he explained, gesturing to the set of green she shared with Harry. "I can't tell you how pleased I'll be when she gets her Hogwarts letter, by the way," Gilderoy added brightly. "She's brilliant. She'll be a Ravenclaw for sure."

"Gil, please stop," Cedric said, shaking his head and materializing from the kitchen with a patterned Vera Bradley baby bag thrown over his shoulder. "Potter's never going to trust you with his kid if you keep going on like this - "

"Hush, my gay lover," Gilderoy told him, as Draco and Harry exchanged glances, sighing. "You know, where I come from, you're dead."

"Charming," Cedric remarked, chuckling as he leaned over to kiss Gilderoy's cheek.

"Your kid is going to need so much therapy," Draco muttered to Harry, who shrugged, looking affectionately pleased.

* * *

 _ **Harry and Hermione  
**_ _Three years, ten months ago  
_ _11:00 p.m._

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked, raising his glass of Bulleit to his lips, and Hermione turned to face him.

"Yes," she said. "As long as you're not going to ask me to take any more of those buttery nipple shots."

"No," he agreed, laughing. "Not those." He sobered slightly, eyeing the liquid in his hand, and she reached out, setting a hand on his knee.

"Ask," she coaxed him, and he sighed.

"Draco," he began, and Hermione felt an inward _ahh_ of recognition, forcing herself not to flinch as she waited for the inevitable question. "Why didn't you tell me about him? I would have understood," Harry added, and she nodded.

"I know," she said, and he sighed.

"So," he ventured. "Why?"

It took her a moment.

"You know," she pronounced eventually, "I wish I had a better answer, but when Draco told me he was keeping me safe, I believed him." She took a sip of her own bourbon, sighing quietly. "It's not like he was wrong," she added darkly, and Harry grimaced.

"Yeah," he said uneasily. "I know, but - "

"You're my best friend," Hermione assured him. "I didn't want to lie to you, but I didn't think it was my place to say anything. And if it helps, I really think it upset Draco that he couldn't keep his promise to you," Hermione added. "I really think he _tried_ , but - "

She trailed off, forcing a smile. "But … I'm irresistible?" she attempted, batting her lashes at him, and to her relief, he laughed.

"Seeing everything play out, I sort of do realize I was being unreasonable," Harry admitted. "I guess I just assumed it wasn't serious at first."

"I think we wanted to believe that for a while, too," Hermione agreed. "Would have been easier, I think," she conceded, "if there had been less on the line."

"So we were all being lied to, then," Harry remarked, glancing over at her. "Weren't we?"

She looked up, catching Draco's eye as he walked into Rosmerta's, his gaze finding hers in a matter of breaths.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I think we were."

 **oOo**

"Wait," she gasped, laughing as he nudged her back against the sink. "Wait," she said again, stilling his hand as it slid up the side of her thigh. "I have to ask you something."

"Is it going to be a request not to fuck you in a bathroom?" Draco asked gruffly. "Because sorry, Doc, but no promises."

"No, I just - I wanted to know," Hermione told him, trying to catch her breath. "When did you know it was, you know." She paused, eyeing him. "More than just sex?"

He blinked, staring at her.

"I think," he began, and swallowed, blinking twice more before he continued. "I think I always knew," he confessed, and she exhaled slowly, letting out what she realized, after the fact, had been a captive sigh of relief.

"Good," she whispered, and he picked her up, setting her on the lip of the sink.

"And now," he asked, offering her a formal bow. "May I - "

"Yes," she confirmed, tugging him towards her, and he slipped his hand back under her skirt, murmuring his appreciation in her ear.

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _6:00 p.m._

"Hi," Draco said, smiling at her. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," Hermione told him, shrugging. "I know."

He chuckled, pulling her in under his arm. "You ready?"

"Of course," she said, making a face. "I don't really know why people are acting like this is about me, anyway."

"So true," he agreed. "It's so obviously about me."

"Well, it _is_ ," she reminded him. "I'm just here to stand beside you and look pretty."

"More than that," Draco said. " _Much_ more than that."

"True, I did lend your campaign some legitimacy," she conceded, letting him nudge her through the door as he smiled at the local reporter inside.

"Rita," he said, nodding politely to her. "So nice to see you again."

"Exit polls say it's a landslide," Rita told him briskly, brandishing a microphone in his face. "Any comments?"

"I'd rather wait for the official results," Draco told her, "but of course it's a privilege to have been able to run, and I wish my opponent the best of lu- "

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Rita said, gesturing to her cameraman and nudging Draco and Hermione aside. "I'll check back in an hour, then, Draco, if you don't mind - "

"A pleasure, as always," he called after her, and Hermione shook her head, grinning at him.

"See?" she told him. "It's not about me at all."

"Well, no need to undersell," Draco reminded her. "I wouldn't have had a chance if not for my brilliant surgeon partner, not to mention - "

"Not to mention your endorsement by the Diagon Police," Theo drawled, materializing with Fleur under his arm, " _and_ the Diagon Chamber of Commerce - "

"And let us not forget the Death Eaters, of course," Harry said, "the very _pillars_ of this community - "

"Hear, hear," Daphne said with a smile, holding up a glass of champagne. "To our new city councilman, Draco Malfoy!"

"They're still counting the votes," Draco reminded her, to which they all collectively groaned.

"You've had it in the bag for ages," Daphne retorted, shaking her head. "Even Weasley's _brother_ endorsed you - "

"And while I normally don't give two fucks what Percy thinks," Ron interrupted, joining them, "I have to say he was right this time around."

"Not sure Susan will agree," Draco said, and Theo made a face.

"Oh, Cormac's going to be just fine going back to being a smarmy realtor," Theo assured him. "In the meantime, we finally have someone in government who isn't a total cunt-faced - "

"Theo," Daphne sighed. "My _daughter_ is here - "

"Well, she's going to learn sometime, Daph," Theo chided her. "The world is an explicit place."

"What do you think of the name Millefeuille?" Daphne asked him innocently, and Hermione and Fleur locked eyes, shaking their heads.

"Hey, so now that the election's over," Harry said, turning to Draco and Hermione. "What are your plans?"

"Yes," Theo announced forcefully. "When are you two finally going to tie the knot?" he demanded.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Well," Hermione began, and Draco smiled.

* * *

 _ **Draco and Hermione  
**_ _One week ago  
_ _6:45 a.m._

"I know we said we would wait to talk about marriage," Hermione said slowly, "but I have a counteroffer."

"Okay," Draco said. "Hit me."

"Today," she said, and he leaned back, surprised.

"Wh- "

"See, the thing is," she pressed on, "I know we were going to wait to discuss it until after I finished my residency, which I already did, and _then_ we were going to wait until after the election next week," she continued, and he nodded. "But I was thinking that I'm actually quite tired of not being married to you."

"Interesting assessment," he said neutrally. "Go on."

"And I don't need a ring," she assured him hastily. "I probably wouldn't want one, you know, what with having to remove it for surgery and everything - "

"Right," he agreed, nodding.

" - so I was _thinking_ ," she exhaled, "maybe you could take me to get a tattoo instead."

He blinked.

"A tattoo?" he echoed slowly, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said. "That's what I want to do today. I want to get married at City Hall," she said, "at around, oh, nine or ten in the morning - "

"Lovely time of day," Draco acknowledged, still not quite certain it wasn't a dream.

" - and then I want to get a tattoo." She paused, waiting. "Sound good?"

"Well," Draco ventured, after a beat of silence. "That's quite an itinerary, Doc."

"I made the city hall appointment last month," she admitted, cringing. "On a whim."

"Whim?" he asked. "Hardly seems whimsical."

"I know, but - "

"And it's unfortunate," he continued, "as I made an appointment six weeks ago for this afternoon. But you're right," he conceded. "Morning is better. I hadn't considered the tattoo option," he added, and she rolled over, staring at him.

"You made an appointment?"

"Yes, well, as you mentioned," he said, shrugging. "I find I don't particularly care for a life where I foolishly continue to not be married to you, Doc."

"Huh," she said. "And as for the tattoo?"

"Have you given this much thought?" Draco asked. "It'll be on you forever, you know."

"Much like you," she said. "Ideally, anyway."

He gave her something of a half-smile.

"Ideally," he agreed. "So we're doing this," he said. "Marriage?"

"Aren't we?" she asked. "Waiting for the right time just seems too pedestrian."

"So true," he acknowledged. "Better to leap wildly, don't you think?"

She nodded, as certain as ever.

"Ride or die," she told him, and he smiled.

"Ride or die," he agreed, brushing his lips against hers.

* * *

 _ **The day of  
**_ _8:00 p.m._

"I'd like to thank you all for coming," Draco announced to the room, pausing as a series of camera flashes went off. "I consider it one of my life's greatest honors to have been voted the newest member of the Diagon City Council today, and I could not be more fortunate than to share that honor with you, my closest friends."

"And Weasley," he saw Theo mutter to Fleur, who smacked him in the abdomen.

"Many people were surprised by my decision to run for office," Draco continued, sweeping the room with a glance, "and I can't say I disagree. But I've learned, circumstances of my life being what they've been, that separating myself from governance where I see flaws isn't commendable, or admirable; that if I simply withdraw to the shadows, there is no pride in underhanded rebellion. Rather, I've learned that the heaviest penalty for declining to lead is simply to be ruled by someone else, and that we choose this life every day; whatever life, that is," he clarified, "that we ultimately choose."

He paused, clearing his throat, and then glanced up, catching Hermione's eye with a smile.

"The City is what it is because the citizens are what they are," Draco said. "That's the foundation of my campaign, and an inescapable tenet of my beliefs. And knowing the citizens as I do," he continued, "there is no other City quite as blessed as this one, nor any man quite as privileged as I am to be a part of it."

He let the statement carry in the air a moment, settling over their heads, and then pressed on.

"I'd like to thank Diagon's Chief of Police, Officer Harry Potter," Draco said, nodding to him, "and President Theodore Nott" - he paused, smirking slightly, as Theo rolled his eyes - "of the Death Eaters, for being my tireless allies throughout this campaign, along with their wives, Daphne and Fleur, and my fellow brothers. But more than anything, I would like - if you would permit me a moment - to raise a glass to my partner in life and in love, Dr Hermione Granger." He picked up his champagne flute, raising it in her direction. "Hermione," he said. "You once told me that if ever I would fail, you would be the one standing in the rubble - and now, at what can only be my proudest moment," he estimated, gesturing wryly around the room, "I hope you know you stand with me here, too. To Hermione," he called, and the room mirrored his motion.

"Okay, but what I want to know is where the tattoo is," Fleur protested, her voice just audible as she ducked a tossed bouquet that appeared to have originated from Gilderoy.

 **oOo**

"Hey," Hermione said, walking over to join him once he'd shaken the requisite hands. "Good speech, you degenerate."

"Thanks, Dr Degenerate," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist before sliding his fingers up her spine, drawing them to where he knew the words _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ were now scripted along the expanse of her shoulder. "Should we take the Prius home?"

She frowned. "Didn't you take your bike here?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "But your hair looks so nice," he reminded her, reaching out to toy with a curl that rested against her clavicle.

She shrugged. "I think the phrase is ride or _die_ , not ride when hair is not an issue," she told him. "Right?"

He grinned. "Something like that," he permitted, and slipped outside, pulling her behind him.

"Here," he offered, handing her his helmet. "Put this on."

"Did you not bring an extra?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Closer to God without one," he countered, and she rolled her eyes.

"That continues to be a ridiculous thing to say," she told him, but she accepted the proffered helmet and hiked her dress up, slinging a leg over his Harley and straddling it with practiced ease. "Ready?" she asked, settling herself behind him.

"Ready?" he echoed. "For what?"

"For everything," she said, and he started the ignition, feeling it roar to life beneath them as she slid her arms around his chest.

"Yes," he said, and smiled. "Yes, I think we are."

* * *

 _ **FIN**_

* * *

 **a/n:** The chapter title, and the quote from Draco's speech, come once again from Plato: _The City is what it is because our citizens are what they are._

A huge, resounding thank you to everyone for reading; this story has been such a meaningful ride (or die, a joke which never gets old), and it has been such a privilege to share it with you. Extra thank yous to Sally, my cherished princess, for her countless alpha reads; to Shenans, for her brilliant poetry, which never disappoints; and to everyone who has created aesthetics, collages, playlists, and art to go with the story, all of which can be found on my tumblr (olivieblake dot tumblr dot com, under the tag _ride or die_ ).

Find me on tumblr with questions/thoughts, and to keep an eye on future projects, including my original work; on Spotify, the official _Ride or Die_ playlist is available too, should you wish to have a listen. As always, if you enjoyed this story, I would be immensely grateful should you wish to recommend to any friends/groups/blogs; it is always nice to know my work has been appreciated, and please know that I am incredibly indebted to you for your support.

And now, moving forward, my next Dramione WIP: _**How to Win Friends and Influence People.**_ The summary is as follows:

 _After the war, Hermione discovered she liked to break things; bones, specifically. Similarly, Draco, whose life had crumbled to rubble, became fascinated with explosives. Dramione, post-war, espionage AU._

This is a spy!Dramione (largely a comedy) which features an international web of crime, a classic bout of enemies-to-lovers, and a fake-relationship-turned-real. A preview for the fic is now available as chapter 29, and you can find the story posted in my account now, should you be interested in following it.

As ever, it has been an honor to put these words down for you; I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story.

x Olivie


	29. Story Preview: How to Win

**Story Preview:** _ **How to Win Friends and Influence People**_

 _ **Summary:**_ _After the war, Hermione discovered she liked to break things; bones, specifically. Similarly, Draco, whose life had crumbled to rubble, became fascinated with explosives. Dramione, post-war, espionage AU._

* * *

 _ **The first time:  
**_ _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Sept 3, 1998_

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she growled, glaring at him. "I was here first."

"If you would kindly untwist your knickers, Granger, you might bring yourself to notice that I am simply reaching for a _book_ ," he retorted, making a show of picking one up off the shelf. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to be polite?"

She flipped a page, scowling. "I see you haven't changed a bit, Malfoy."

"No, I haven't," he told her, "and regrettably, neither have you."

She slammed the book shut, throwing her bag over her shoulder and rising to her feet.

"I don't know why I thought I'd be able to come back here with you," she muttered. "I should have known you'd be the exact same bullying prat you always were - "

"Look," he interrupted, waving her opposition away. "I'm just here to take my N.E.W.T.s and get out, same as you." She made a face, and he glowered back. "I'm not looking for any sort of reconciliation. You just stay out of my way, Granger," he offered forcefully, "and I'll stay out of yours."

"You'd better, Malfoy," she snapped. "Don't think I've forgotten about everything you did."

"Don't think I care," he retorted, and crossed his arms over his chest. "So are we clear?"

"That you're an arse, and nothing's changed?" she prompted, artificially sweet. " _Crystal._ "

"Good," he said flatly.

"Good!" she yelled back.

"SHHH," Madam Pince interrupted loudly, and they stared at each other, fuming.

"Get out of my w- "

"With pleasure," he drawled, stepping aside with a derisive bow, and she promptly stormed out.

* * *

 _ **The second time:  
**_ _The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade Village  
December 25, 1998_

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he groaned. "What in the name of Salazar's wrinkled ballsack are you doing here?"

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy," she retorted. "Go away."

" _You_ go away," he snapped. "I'm just trying to have a drink - "

"What are you even doing here?" she demanded. "Why aren't you with your family? Or better yet, at the bottom of the lake," she muttered under her breath, "being swallowed by the giant squid - "

"They're n- " he began, cutting himself off, and then immediately grimaced. "I just can't go back there right now, okay? And anyway, listen, I really don't have the energy for this," he told her. "What with all the effort at pretending you don't exist that I've had my hands full with over the last four months - "

"Please," she scoffed. " _I'm_ not the one moping around the castle at all hours, staring broodily into space - "

"Why aren't you with Weasley, anyway?" he cut in brusquely, glaring at her. "I thought you two were supposed to be some sort of disgusting apocalyptic approximation of romance - "

"He's _busy_ ," she said flatly. "He's an _Auror_ now, so - "

"Well, what a mindless fucking endeavor," he interrupted, arching a brow. "You must be _so proud._ "

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy," she said, curling a fist and then promptly pivoting to exit. "Have a bloody _happy Christmas_ , then, will you?"

"I _bloody_ will," he shouted, slamming his fork down and glaring after her as she left.

* * *

 _ **The third time:  
**_ _Outside Twilfitt and Tattings, Diagon Alley  
July 10, 1999_

"Oh no, don't look," she whispered to Ron. "No," she groaned, bringing her hand to her face as he spun over his shoulder. "I said _don't_ look - "

"Oh, _wonderful_ ," she heard Draco drawl, and wanted instantly to sink below Diagon Alley's cobbled steps. "Look, it's my two favorite war heroes, just out for a romantic stroll - "

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said, promptly throwing his arm around Hermione and discarding the argument they'd been having; the usual one, as always, about when she'd be halting her research at Hogwarts and joining him in London. Much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't entirely sure whether Draco Malfoy's appearance was a curse or - under those circumstances - a rather unfortunate blessing. "Get lost, would you?" Ron snapped, glaring at the other wizard. "I'm surprised they're still willing to serve you around here."

Draco blinked, furious, and then he licked his lips, forcing a smile.

"So am I," he said coolly, "but money will get you everywhere, won't it, Weasley? Oh, wait," he lamented, facetiously tapping his mouth. "You wouldn't know, would you?"

"I'm a fucking Auror, Malfoy," Ron snarled. "I could arrest you _right_ fucking _now -_ "

"Ron," Hermione whispered, clutching his arm. "Don't start."

"Yes, listen to your fiancée," Draco advised, pointedly inspecting his fingernails. "Many happy returns, by the way. I'm _ever so_ pleased you two paired off so magnificently, especially after such a - what are the papers calling it? A 'rocky start,' was it? I knew those articles about the strained long-distance relationship couldn't be true. Anyway," he said, shrugging, as Ron's face promptly turned scarlet with rage, "do look out for my congratulatory fruit basket, in between the photoshoots and all the convincing yourselves you're doing this for the right reasons that _surely_ must be taking up all your time - "

"Say one more word, Malfoy, and you'll have to look out for my wand up your arse," Ron seethed, and Hermione sighed.

"Come on," she said, tugging him after her. "Let's go - "

"Bye, Granger," Draco called cheerfully. "Do send a postcard when you've birthed the first of the new Weasel clan, will you?"

"I'll make sure of it," she shouted over her shoulder, shoving Ron into Florean Fortescue's.

* * *

 _ **The fourth time:  
**_ _Somewhere on Shaftesbury Avenue, London  
May 20, 2000_

It was just her luck that on the rare occasion that she wasn't looking where she was going, she would have to bump shoulders with Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, wait a second," he called, turning around as she kept walking. "Granger, is that you?"

She sped up, pulling her coat tight around her.

"Granger, aren't you supposed to be at - "

He caught her arm, a little breathless, and she spun, glaring at him.

"What?" she demanded, and he stared, brows furrowed.

"Are you - " he swallowed. "Are you crying?"

"No," she lied, and turned to keep walking. He, irritatingly, held on.

"Wait, I just - _wait,_ " he pressed, rooting her in place. "Are you wearing - "

"My wedding dress? No," she said, laughing. "Nope. Just a long white dress, actually," she added, hiccuping once. "No reason."

His eyes narrowed.

"Granger," he said forcefully. "What the fuck?"

She looked down, staring at her feet, and he sighed.

"Come on," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder, and then surreptitiously pulled out his wand, apparating them elsewhere. "There," he said, as her feet settled on a lush set of gardens. It was dewy, and fragrant, and would have been beautiful had it not been tainted with the particular intrigue of things-after-midnight and places she shouldn't have been.

"Talk," he instructed, gesturing to a bench.

He sat. She didn't.

"Suit yourself," he remarked indolently, and leaned back. "I suppose I can talk, if you prefer. For one thing, _fuck_ London," he told her. "Do you know how much a pint costs? Outrageous. I hardly need concern myself with money but it's bloody thievery is what it is, really - "

"I just wanted a happy ending," she told him blankly. "Was that too much to ask?"

He cleared his throat, pausing, and then gestured beside him.

She, reluctantly, sat.

"So," he said. "You walked out on Weasley?"

"He was having cold feet," she said, hearing the robotic tone of her voice and wishing there was something she could do about it. "I heard him telling Harry he wasn't sure. That he thought maybe we'd rushed into it," she added, "because it wasn't working between us, and we'd thought maybe if we were more committed, it _would_ , but - "

She trailed off, and he said nothing.

"I did us a favor," she ruled, shivering. "And anyway, I paid all the vendors before I left," she added, "and I sent apology owls to all the guests individually, and - "

"Fuck, Granger," he exhaled, shaking his head. "You're the only person on earth who could make a traumatic breakup sound like an expertly planned logistical feat."

"I'm considerate," she told him. "And realistic, and - "

"What was it?" he interrupted. "What you were fighting about."

She blinked.

"We weren't fighting," she insisted. "It wasn't that we were _fighting,_ exactly, and everything was fine, it was just - "

"Was it about how you can't sleep at night?" he asked. "That you don't come to bed, because you don't _want_ to come to bed, and yes, you're reading that book for the twentieth time, because it's easier than sleeping? Easier than thinking, and easier than _remembering_ , and thus, a better use of time? Or was it because you don't like to come home," he ventured, staring out into the dark. "That you'd rather be working - and that no, you _don't_ use your time together well, you're not fully _present,_ because you don't feel normal - you _can't_ feel normal, because everything went wrong and so, maybe, it'll just go wrong again? And then she leaves you," he finished, clearing his throat. "Because you don't make her happy, because _you_ aren't happy, and you don't know why."

Hermione swallowed, letting a heavy swell of time pass.

"He wanted me to be his wife," she said eventually. "You know? His _wife_. Hermione Weasley." She turned, facing him. "Does that make sense?"

Draco shrugged. "Stupid of him," he said. "Terrible name, firstly, and extremely poor grasp of your personality, if we're being realistic - "

"Well, I mean, to his credit, he never actually _said_ that," she murmured. "I just - I felt it." She took a deep breath; let it out. "And maybe that's not fair, but - "

"Who cares what's fair?" he retorted. "What part of our lives was ever _fair_? We want what we want," he said dully, "and we get almost none of it, so - "

He trailed off. She grimaced.

"I don't know what I want to do with my life," she confessed, saying the words out loud for the first time that she could remember. "And he does, and I don't think - I don't think it would be right if we - "

She sighed. "It's better this way," she finished, and he didn't move; didn't breathe.

They looked out into the night, tacitly agreeing to silence, as a peacock warbled something that sounded suspiciously like a long string of expletives.

"So," Draco drawled. "Should we have sex?"

She turned, staring at him.

"No," she said, and he shrugged, unsurprised.

"Just trying to make you feel bet- "

"There is something I want from you, though," she ventured slowly, and he lifted a single pale brow.

"Well, spit it out, Granger, I haven't got all n- "

"I want to hit you," she informed him. "I want to hit you right in your stupid, terrible face."

There was a pause.

"Kinky," he said eventually.

She glared at him, and then softened, looking down at her hands.

"Do you ever just want to - " she trailed off, eyeing the lines of her palm. " _Hurt_ something? Because you've lived this fragile, breakable life, and so everyone thinks you're fragile and breakable too, and you just want to - " she turned her hands over, clenching them into fists. " _Ruin_ something?"

He stared at her, eyes narrowed, and then launched unsteadily to his feet.

"How many people have you hit, Granger?" he asked. "Is this a common impulse?"

"Just the one," she told him, smirking, and he rolled his eyes at the memory. "But I found it rather a relief at the time, so I imagine it would be equally satisfactory on a second go."

"But what about diminishing returns?" he countered. "Maybe you should find someone else to hit. Like Weasley," he suggested brightly. "That would be fun for everyone."

She glowered at him, and he sighed.

"Fine," he said. "You can have one hit."

She blinked. "What?"

"You can have _one hit,_ " he told her. "And only because you've been crying, and crying women make me supremely uncomfortable."

She looked down, eyeing her hands again, and then nodded, feeling her heart pound as she rose suddenly to her feet.

"Okay," she said, feeling her pulse skip. "Okay. One hit?"

"One hit," he agreed. "And if you break anything - "

"Jesus, Malfoy, how delicate are you?"

"Delicate? Where do you get off - ? That offends."

"It _offends_?"

" _Excuse me,_ you're obviously in some kind of state of - OUCH, _fuck me_ \- "

"Oh, it didn't hurt that bad. Don't be a baby."

"Don't be a _baby_? You nearly shattered my nose!"

"I did not - "

"You _did_ \- "

"You're an intolerable little pantywaist, Malfoy - "

"You're a vicious little brute, Granger!"

She laughed, and laughed and laughed and laughed, and then, abruptly, the laughter spoiled itself in her throat, sticky and hot and painful, and he seemed to hear it too, something in his expression vanishing at the sound.

"I need to go," she said hoarsely; after the laughter had burned at the back of her eyes, and when she was suddenly more certain of that than anything. "I have to get out, you know what I mean? I have to just - _go_."

He stared at her, breathing hard.

"Then go," he said, blinking, and she swallowed it; the tears and heartache and loss.

"Bye," she said dully, and disapparated, leaving him cradling his stinging cheek in his hand.

* * *

 _ **The fifth time:  
**_ _Interior of the Sultanahmet Mosque, Istanbul  
_ _July 8, 2001_

"Well, well, well," he muttered, and she nearly jumped. "Nearly didn't recognize you with that bushy head of yours covered, Granger."

"Not now, Malfoy," she whispered, pointedly staring up at the mosque's high ceiling. "Don't you know when a space is sacred?"

"I often say that about my bedroom, and yet nobody ever listens," he told her, following her as she shifted, trying - or at least _appearing_ to try - to get a better view of the tiled dome. "What are you doing here?"

"Living my life," she informed him, and then let her gaze flick askance, glaring at him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, nothing important," he said, shrugging. "Business."

"Business," she echoed skeptically, scoffing. "I doubt that." She turned, unhappily facing him. "Isn't this place a little too muggle for you, Malfoy?"

"Hardly," he said. "You really think there's no magic to this?" he asked, gesturing to the tiles above. "It's so _blue_."

"That's - " she started to say, and then cut herself off. "Nevermind," she told him briskly, heading for the west entrance. "I'm leaving."

"Bye, then," he called after her, not following. "Do be careful, though, would you?"

She stopped, pivoting in place.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, and he shrugged.

"Avoid the Turkish Ministry," he clarified. "At least for the afternoon."

She glared at him. "What?"

"Just keep that big, bushy head down, Granger," he said, unfazed, and then he turned, tucking his hands in his pockets, and walked out without another word.

* * *

 _ **The last time:  
**_ _The One-Eyed Crone, somewhere outside Dublin  
_ _February 17, 2002_

"Oh, not _again_ ," they groaned in unison, abruptly knocking shoulders as they reached for the same freshly-poured pint of Guinness.

"Give me that," she snapped, slapping his hand away and snatching the glass from his reach. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" he countered, gesturing to the barkeep for another and then turning to scowl at her. "Aren't you supposed to be trolloping around Europe or something?"

"I was never _trolloping_ ," she told him, and pursed her lips, taking a pointed sip of her beer as he grunted his disagreement, waiting. "What about you, anyway?" she prompted. "Blowing up pubs now, Malfoy, or are you sticking with foreign ministries?"

He narrowed his eyes, conspicuously not answering. "You have bruises," he told her, his gaze flicking over her cheek. "Found someone new to hit, Granger? Looks like they hit back," he noted, accepting the Guinness from the bartender and smirking at her. "I have to say, it's an improvement."

"Hilarious," she muttered, and they both paused, eyeing each other over their drinks.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "There's an underground fighting ring beneath this bar," he suggested slyly. "Isn't there?"

She took a sip, biding her time, and then turned, gesturing to a man who sat in the corner.

"That," she said, jutting her chin towards him, "is a wanted fugitive from the Bulgarian Ministry. A purveyor of illegal herbs who owes some Welsh vampires a coin or two," she added knowingly. "Isn't he?"

Their eyes narrowed in unison, each silently gauging the other's offering.

"I'll say nothing if you will," Draco determined eventually. "Deal?"

She smiled darkly.

"Deal," she agreed, and they nodded, parting ways to opposite ends of the pub without another word.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _The full first chapter of this story is now available for you to follow in my profile. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!_


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